Divergence
by Ness Frost
Summary: What if Pettigrew hadn't escaped at the end of PoA? How the series might have gone if Harry and Sirius had gotten the chance to be a family. Rating is for violence, including torture, and sexual trauma. Hints of RW/HG, but otherwise no pairings.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. I'm not making any profit off of this story.

Most of the dialogue in the prologue is lifted straight out of PoA. This was intentional and was only done to establish how and where the divergence from canon happens.

* * *

"I'm going to stun him," said Lupin. "That's all, I swear."

Harry stepped out of the way. A jet of red light shot from Lupin's wand, and next moment, Pettigrew was crumpled on the floor, unconscious.

* * *

They were nearly to the castle when Harry felt the cold.

He and Hermione were walking on either side of Ron, who had been jarred rather severely when Lupin wrenched himself away. Sirius was slightly behind them, levitating Pettigrew and Snape. His hands were trembling, and the deep gashes from his fight with Lupin stood out lividly in the moonlight.

After confirming that Hermione could help Ron on her own, Harry slipped Ron's arm off his shoulders and dropped back to walk with Sirius.

"Are you all right?"

Sirius shook his head. "I was a dog at the time, so there won't be any permanent damage."

"That's not what I—" Suddenly, Harry started shivering violently. A wave of cold swept over them. Harry turned; there was a mass of dementors coming up behind them, hundreds of dementors, faceless, eyeless monsters in black hooded cloaks…

* * *

**A/N:** A little something I've been working on for awhile now, and I finally got the guts to start posting it. And yes, I suck at titles.


	2. YEAR3 Guilt and Innocence

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters and I'm not making any profit off of this story.

* * *

Harry awoke but didn't open his eyes. It seemed as if there was a fog in his brain, a drifting gray confusion that was lifting very slowly. He could hear rustling noises and footsteps, as well as several soft voices so distant that he couldn't make out the words.

Gradually, things began to come back to him. The clouds parting to bathe them in moonlight. Professor Lupin becoming a werewolf, Sirius transforming to protect them. Lupin running off. The long trek back up to the castle. Dementors coming at them in a black mass… Harry had tried to fight them off, but his misty Patronus had flickered and died. Hermione had fainted. Ron was screaming his head off. Black was trembling on the ground. The dementor closest to him had lowered its hood, as another one reached for Sirius…

Harry's eyes shot open, and he sat bolt upright in bed. He was lying in the hospital wing, Ron and Hermione on either side of him. Madam Pomfrey had her back to him, but turned around at the sound of him sitting up. "Ah, you're awake!" she said briskly. She'd been standing by Ron's bedside table, and when she turned toward him Harry saw that she was holding the largest block of chocolate he had ever seen in his life. "You three will be staying here until I'm satisfied you're—"

Harry was already getting out of bed. "Where's Sirius?" he demanded. He grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and put them on; the world snapped back into focus. "The dementors—did they—"

Madam Pomfrey pushed him back into bed, pursing her lips. "The Black situation is being handled, Potter."

"But Sirius—"

At that moment the door opened and Dumbledore came in. He looked almost casually around the hospital wing, and his eyes came to rest on Harry.

"Professor Dumbledore, Sirius Black—"

"Headmaster!" said Madam Pomfrey angrily. "Potter is my patient, and he should not be distressed! I must insist that you leave."

"My apologies, Poppy, but I need a word with Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley. And I daresay," continued Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling, "that Mr. Potter will be a good deal less distressed once he hears what I have to say."

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips but didn't argue. Instead, she strode away to her office at the end of the ward.

Dumbledore turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Professor, the dementors—" Harry began, but Dumbledore held up a hand for silence.

"I drove off the dementors before they were able to do any lasting harm to you or your godfather." It was then that Harry remembered: right before he lost consciousness he had seen something silver fly out of nowhere, something that circled them and drove the dementors away…

"That was your Patronus that I saw? That silver bird?"

Dumbledore looked pleased.

"But Pettigrew—"

"Is currently being questioned, under the influence of the most powerful truth serum Professor Snape was able to provide. Sirius is in Ministry custody at the moment, but will be released once the whole truth has come to light."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and sank back against his pillows, and only then did he realise just how tense he had been. Sirius was going to be okay…

Hermione's voice cut through his thoughts. "Headmaster? What about Professor Lupin?"

At that, Dumbledore's voice grew slightly grimmer. "Professor Lupin is currently in the Forbidden Forest, and will likely remain there until morning. I have sent Hagrid out to see that he does no harm to anyone on the grounds, and to bring him back when he is himself again."

Harry nodded, relief washing through him. If there was anyone on staff who could handle a werewolf, it was Hagrid.

Dumbledore rose to his feet. "If that is all, I daresay Madam Pomfrey will want to look after the three of you." His eyes were twinkling like mad again. "You being in such a delicate condition and all… yes, I think that would be for the best…" With that, he was striding toward Madam Pomfrey's office, but he turned around midway. "And Harry, I really do think you ought to thank Professor Snape for coming after you."

Harry's jaw dropped. "What—"

"Professor Snape followed Professor Lupin into the Shrieking Shack, at great personal risk, in order to see that you came to no harm. Consider for a moment, if you would, how things would have gone if Sirius really had been the murderer you believed him to be." He paused for a moment. Harry scowled; the three of them had just about taken Black before Lupin got there. "And I think all three of you," he continued, his gaze now encompassing Ron and Hermione as well, "ought to apologize for your attack on him in the Shrieking Shack. I believe I can even persuade him not to take points if you show him the proper respect." He continued to Madam Pomfrey's office, leaving Ron gaping and sputtering in his wake.

"_Us_? Apologize to _him_? After he— What he was going to— _He_ should be the one to—"

"Now Ron," Hermione interrupted, "he could have handled the whole thing better, I admit, but he _was_ trying to save us…"

"He just about turned Sirius in to the dementors! And Lupin too! And I'll be damned if I'll apologize to that greasy git!"

Hermione cut him off. "What do you think, Harry?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "I don't like it," he said, "but it sounds like Dumbledore will let him take hundreds of points off Gryffindor otherwise. Besides," he continued, ignoring Hermione's pointed look and the choking noise coming from Ron's bed, "it's a small price to pay for Sirius's freedom, right?"

Ron's indignant sputtering was interrupted when Madam Pomfrey returned to the ward and shoved a large piece of chocolate into his mouth.

* * *

It was nearly an hour before they got any more news of Sirius. Madam Pomfrey had stood over them, forcing them to take fourth and fifth helpings of chocolate, which they thought it best to accept without complaint. Finally, though, she returned to her office, leaving the three of them to quietly discuss the night's events.

Harry could barely keep his mind on the conversation. Eventually he gave up and stared at the ceiling, his nerves jangling. What was taking them so long? Surely they should have finished questioning Pettigrew by now. Had Pettigrew managed to escape again? Had the Ministry changed its mind, and decided to send Sirius back to Azkaban after all? Could one of the dementors have—

His thoughts were interrupted when Hermione nudged him and pointed to the door. There were voices coming from the other side; they were very close now, but Harry had been too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice.

"…most highly embarrassing, to think that we've had the wrong man for all these years. The _Prophet_ will have a field day…"

"And the dementors, Cornelius?" Dumbledore's voice interrupted. "They'll be removed from the school, I trust?"

"Oh yes, they'll have to go," the first voice replied, sounding distracted. "Never dreamed they'd attempt to administer the Kiss on an innocent boy… Completely out of control… no, I'll have them packed off to Azkaban tonight…"

The door to the hospital wing opened. Dumbledore and Fudge came through, accompanied by Sirius. He was as gaunt as ever and looked exhausted, but smiled when he saw Harry.

"Cleared," he rasped. "Of all charges."

All three of them gave a cheer, which they quickly stifled when Madam Pomfrey hurried over to see what the ruckus was about. Dumbledore quickly caught her eye.

"I believe that Mr. Black is also in need of your administrations," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"I don't need—" Sirius began, but Pomfrey was already clucking disapprovingly as she looked him over, lingering especially over the gashes on his face and back. She then ordered him into a bed over his increasingly loud protests, succeeding only when she threatened to Stun him if he didn't cooperate. Harry snickered.

He quickly choked back the laughter, but it was difficult to stifle the euphoria bubbling up inside of him. Everything was going to be all right. He was going to live with his godfather. He'd never have to set eyes on the Dursleys again.

Harry rolled onto his side, now shaking with repressed laughter. Ron was staring at him, goggle-eyed, and this only served to increase his amusement. Finally he could hold it in no longer and gave voice to his laughter, tears streaming down his face. He was going to have a home. For the first time in his life, he was going to have a real home.

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were able to leave the hospital wing at noon the next day, though Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Sirius a little longer. Harry chose to sit with him for awhile, but when Ron and Hermione offered to stay as well he persuaded them to go spend some time outside.

"Besides, it's a Hogsmeade weekend," he said. "You two go have fun."

Ron looked like he was about to argue, but Hermione gripped his elbow and firmly steered him away. As they left Harry thought he heard her say, "…need some time alone."

The door to the hospital wing closed behind them. Madam Pomfrey was in her office, leaving Harry alone with Sirius. There was a sudden long silence as they both looked at each other, neither knowing quite how to begin.

Harry made the first attempt. "Did you hear that Snape got an Order of Merlin?"

Sirius scowled. "For 'rescuing' you and aiding in the recapture of Pettigrew? Yes, I heard. Dumbledore told me this morning." He looked as if he had been forced to swallow an extremely sour lemon. The conversation lapsed into silence.

"At least you're free," Harry tried again. "I can come and live with you now…"

"About that, Harry…" His heart skipped a beat; had Sirius changed his mind? "I've been thinking, and there's something I can't help but wonder about. I may be your godfather, but I'm still a complete stranger. Why are you so eager to leave your aunt and uncle?"

Harry took a deep breath, and before he could stop himself the whole truth was pouring out of him. He told Sirius how he had slept in the cupboard under the stairs until the age of ten, how he had been forced to do all the housework as soon as he could walk and cook breakfast as soon as he could reach a stove, how his aunt and uncle lavished attention on Dudley and then treated Harry as if he were something nasty on the bottom of their shoes. How they had locked him in his room and starved him the summer before his second year. How they had kept his legacy from him and told him that his magic made him a freak. When Harry told him about the time the Dursleys stood by and laughed when Ripper chased him up a tree, Sirius's hands were clenched and shaking. And when he confessed that his aunt and uncle told him his father was an unemployed drunkard and that his parents had died in a car crash, his godfather let out a growl of rage that made Harry jump about a foot in the air and knock his chair over backward.

"What's this, what's this?" Madam Pomfrey had come back out of her office. "Potter, you were discharged an hour ago; you should be outside."

"But—"

"Mr. Black needs his rest and you'll have plenty of time to talk to him later. Out, OUT!"

Harry had no choice but to leave then. He made a quick promise to talk later and made his way to the end of the hospital wing, trying to ignore the fact that Sirius was now snarling at Madam Pomfrey as if he would very much like to throttle her. Sighing, he stepped into the hallway.

Ron and Hermione were waiting for him there.

"Oh Harry—we were just coming up to tell you—" Hermione was twisting her hands in agitation.

"Tell me what?"

"Professor Lupin's resigned!"

"WHAT?"

Ron nodded grimly. "It's true, mate. Hagrid just told us. Said there was too much risk after what happened last night."

"Let's go see him."

"But if he's resigned—"

"—doesn't sound like there's anything we can do—"

"I don't care. I still want to see him. Let's go."

* * *

"Hagrid said you'd resigned," Harry blurted the minute they burst into Lupin's office. "It's not true, is it?"

"I'm afraid it is."

"_Why?_" said Harry. Ron and Hermione stood behind him, seemingly unsure of what to say.

Lupin crossed to the door and closed it behind them. "The Wolfsbane Potion has made it much safer for me to be around students, but it's not foolproof. I think we all saw that last night." He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. "When I think of what might have happened if Sirius hadn't stopped me… I could have bitten any of you. That must never happen again."

"You're the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had!" said Harry. "Don't go!" Lupin only continued emptying his drawers, only looking at Harry again when he was finished.

"Here—I brought this from the Shrieking Shack last night," he said, handing Harry back the Invisibility Cloak. "And…" He hesitated, then held out the Marauder's Map too. "I am no longer your teacher, so I don't feel guilty about giving you back this as well. It's no use to me, and I daresay you three will find uses for it."

"You told me Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs would've wanted to lure me out of school… you said they'd have thought it was funny."

"And so we would have," said Lupin, now reaching down to close his case. "I have no hesitation in saying that James would have been highly disappointed if his son had never found any of the secret passages out of the castle."

Harry hesitated for a moment, but he had to know. "Professor… What sort of animal did my father transform into?"

Lupin smiled. "He was a stag, Harry. That's why we called him Prongs."

"Hey, Harry…" Ron looked deep in thought. "Your Patronus… at that one Quidditch match… I thought it looked sort of like…" He turned to Lupin as if for confirmation.

Lupin turned to Ron now and smiled. "That's right, Ron. Patronuses often do take forms that are meaningful to the wizard casting them. That's why Harry's came out as a stag."

There was a knock on the door. Harry hastily stuffed the Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket.

It was Professor Dumbledore. "Your carriage is at the gates, Remus," he said.

"Thank you, Headmaster." He turned to the students. "Well—good-bye, Harry, Ron, Hermione. It has been a real pleasure teaching all of you. I feel sure we'll meet again sometime. Headmaster, there is no need to see me to the gates, I can manage…"

"Good-bye, then, Remus," said Dumbledore soberly. They shook hands before Lupin left the office. Harry sat down.

Dumbledore gave him a calculating look over the top of his half-moon spectacles, and his smile faded slightly. "Harry, I need to see you in my office tonight."

Harry looked up at him. "Professor? Why…"

"I assure you, Harry, you are not in trouble. There are, however, certain matters we need to discuss. Right after dinner will do, I trust?"

Harry nodded numbly.

"Good, then. After dinner it is." With a nod to Ron and Hermione, he swept out of the room.

"What was that about?" Ron asked.

"No idea," Harry said.

* * *

**A/N:** I decided to go ahead and upload the first chapter at the same time as the prologue, since the prologue is so short and it's mostly repetitions of canon anyway. Speaking of canon...

Since the divergence point only happened a day ago as of this chapter, a lot of things are still happening the same way as before. I'm doing my best to gloss over things that happened the same in canon without leaving huge gaps in the story, and I'd like to know how I'm doing at that. Feedback is appreciated! (Things will diverge much more in future chapters, I promise.)

This story interests me and I'm not quite sure where it's going yet, but I have some definite plans for it, as well as several not-so-definite plans. It'll be a long one and I'm not going to promise not to drop it (because in my experience at least, the only thing more annoying than a dropped story is a dropped story whose author initially promised not to do just that). If I do drop it, however, I'll at least do my best to close it off at a good spot and not leave it hanging.

A fair warning: this story does not yet have a beta. I have proofread and looked for plot holes and such, but it's definitely not perfect.

On a completely unrelated note, I finally figured out how to put those nice lines in when I want to make a break in the story. Yay!


	3. YEAR3 Secrets Revealed

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters, nor am I making any profit off of this story. I am writing solely for my own enjoyment and that of the people reading it.

* * *

Neither Ron nor Hermione felt much like going to Hogsmeade after that, so they decided to visit Hagrid. "He seemed really down about Buckbeak," Hermione said.

Hagrid opened the door for them readily enough, but his eyes were red and blotchy and they could see a bucket-sized tankard on the table behind him. "Oh, it's you lot again," he grunted, stepping aside to let them in. "Thought yeh might've wanted ter say goodbye ter Professor Lupin…"

"Hagrid, we're really, really sorry about Buckbeak," Hermione said.

That was enough to push Hagrid over the edge. He threw himself over their necks, howling so loudly that Fang crawled into his basket and tried to hide under the blankets. Finally he let them go and motioned for them to sit at the table, though tears were still leaking from his beetle-black eyes.

The three of them sat down while Hagrid busied himself making tea and fetching rock cakes, though they could still hear the occasional sniffle. When Hagrid reached up to get the teapot, his sleeve slipped down and Harry noticed a bandage wrapped crudely around his forearm.

Harry frowned. "Hagrid?" he said. "What happened to your arm?"

He grunted. "Well, we weren' suppose' ter tell the students, mind, but seein' as how he's leavin' an' all …" Hagrid dropped his voice. "Professor Lupin's a werewolf, see. An' las' night he was runnin' loose on the grounds. Dumbledore tol' me ter make sure he didn' harm anyone… I managed ter keep him away from the school, all righ', but there was one close call…"

"Are you saying he bit you?" said Ron, his voice going quite a bit higher than normal.

"He did, but it's all righ'."

"But he's a werewolf!"

"I said it's all righ', didn' I? This won' do me any permanen' harm."

Hermione was giving Hagrid a very calculating look. "Hagrid?" she said softly. "Is that because you're half-giant?"

There was a loud clang as Hagrid dropped the teakettle. Ron was looking back and forth between the two of them, his mouth open. He snorted. "Oh, come off it, Hermione. You can't seriously be saying that Hagrid's a—"

"How did yeh… how did yeh know?"

Ron's jaw just about hit the table.

"Well," said Hermione, "I've thought for awhile now that you must be, but I wasn't sure until you told us about the bite. Werewolves are only a danger to humans, after all." She smiled. "Don't worry about it, Hagrid. It doesn't matter to any of us." She elbowed Ron.

"Er, yeah. We don't care, really."

Harry nodded. "That's right, all of us are fine with it." He grinned. "And don't worry about Hermione putting it together. She figured out that Professor Lupin was a werewolf about three months into the school year."

Hagrid looked at them a moment, and his face broke into a grin even though he was still sniffling. "Always said she was the cleveres' witch in her year, didn' I?"

Hermione's face went pink.

They stayed a bit longer, drinking tea and politely refusing Hagrid's rock cakes. After they left Ron looked back for a moment and let out a breath.

"I suppose it's just as well," he said. "I mean really, imagine _Hagrid_ as a werewolf."

Hermione shuddered. "Let's talk about something else."

* * *

They spent the rest of the day wandering the grounds, with the end result that they were all very sunburned when they came in to dinner. Harry couldn't remember a time when he had felt so happy. For the first time in his life, he was looking forward to the end of the school year. He would never have to go back to the Dursleys again… He thought of Sirius's anger on his behalf, and his face broke into a wide grin.

"What are you smiling about?" Ron asked.

"Oh, nothing." Harry bent over his food, and his grin only grew wider.

As Harry ate, though, his elation began to fade. He couldn't help but wonder what Dumbledore wanted to talk to him about, and even though Dumbledore had assured him that he wasn't in any sort of trouble, Harry still had the impression that it was a matter of some seriousness. It was therefore with great trepidation that he kept sneaking glances at the head table, both hoping for Dumbledore to finish and dreading the moment that he did.

Finally, though, Dumbledore caught his eye and rose from his seat. It was just as well; by this point Harry was so nervous he could barely swallow. He muttered a quick "see you later" to Ron and Hermione, and followed Dumbledore from the Great Hall.

"Professor, what—"

"I will explain when we get to my office, Harry." Dumbledore looked at him over the rims of his half-moon spectacles, and though his gaze was kindly, Harry thought that he somehow wore a more serious expression than any he had ever seen before.

They did not speak all the rest of the way to Dumbledore's office. Harry wasn't really paying attention when Dumbledore gave the password, and his mind was still wandering as they walked up the moving spiral staircase. When they reached the door to his office, though, and Harry saw who was sitting there, his heart leapt in his chest.

"Sirius!" he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to speak to him as well, Harry," Dumbledore answered for him.

"Good thing, too," said Sirius, grinning and leaning back in his chair until the front legs lifted off the floor. "I think Pomfrey would have kept me till Christmas, otherwise."

Dumbledore motioned Harry into a chair beside Sirius, then sat behind his desk and surveyed them both over the tops of his half-moon spectacles.

"I understand," he said slowly, looking at Sirius, "that you have the intention of providing Harry with a new home at the end of this year."

"That's right." Sirius leaned his chair back a bit further and turned to grin at Harry.

"I don't think," Dumbledore said, looking as if he were weighing every word, "that that would be a good idea."

BAM. Sirius's chair crashed back onto the floor. Harry felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. Not live with his godfather? Go back to the Dursleys, just when he thought he'd be rid of them forever? There was a muffled sort of buzzing in his ears. "Professor—but—I—_why?_"

He was cut off by Sirius, who faced Dumbledore with his teeth bared. "I am not sending him back there, Dumbledore. If you had any sort of idea what went on in that house, you wouldn't even consider it, and—"

Dumbledore held up a hand for silence, looking at Sirius sternly. "Do you really think that I would have placed Harry anywhere without keeping a close watch on him?"

"That's even worse!" Sirius erupted. "You left him there, and you knew all along, you _knew_ what kind of life you were subjecting him to. You can say whatever you like, but I'm going to do what I should have done twelve years ago and _do my duty as godfather!_"

Harry looked at Sirius, hardly daring to hope, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"I am afraid that it is not that simple. There are requirements to raising a child. Do you, for one, have a house that's suitable for human habitation? If I recall correctly, your home in Godric's Hollow was sold to the highest bidder after you were given a life sentence in Azkaban."

Harry's heart sank. Of course; he had asked that very question on their way back from the Shrieking Shack, and Sirius hadn't answered…

"I—" Sirius opened his mouth, and for a moment he looked utterly defeated. But then an expression of angry determination returned to his face. "I'll _get_ a house. And I'll get anything else I need, too. You have yet to give me one good reason why I shouldn't take Harry in!"

"Sirius, you will just have to trust me…"

"But why, Professor?" Harry asked, trying to keep the pleading note out of his voice. "I don't want to stay with the Dursleys, I hate it there and they hate me just as much—"

Dumbledore sighed and rested his chin on his interlaced fingers. "Look at me, both of you." Reluctantly, Harry did. "I did not want to have to tell you this so soon, but it seems that I am left with no choice."

Harry sat up straighter. Was there a reason, a real reason, that Dumbledore had let him stay at Privet Drive for ten miserable years?

"I left you with your aunt and uncle because my priority was to keep you alive. Voldemort may have been vanquished, but I did not and do not believe that he was gone forever, and many of his supporters were still at large on the night your parents died. In placing you with your aunt I was placing you under the protection of an ancient magic—I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. Her sacrifice gave you a lingering protection that flows in your veins to this day."

"But how does that—"

"Petunia Dursley is your mother's only remaining relative. While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. You need return there only once a year, but you still must return." Dumbledore looked at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. For a moment no one spoke, until the silence was interrupted by Sirius.

"There has to be another way," he said, shaking his head. "Any house can be warded—"

"As well as James and Lily's house was warded, you mean?"

"We'll use a Secret-Keeper we can trust this time!" Sirius snarled. "I'll even let you do it if you like."

Harry had been watching the argument, his mind completely numb, when something occurred to him. "Professor? I wouldn't need to stay there for the whole summer, would I? I mean, I spent about half of last summer at The Burrow with Ron…"

Dumbledore nodded. "Even if you only return for a few weeks every summer, the protection will hold."

"Even a few weeks every summer is too long! Dumbledore, he's miserable there, and no bloody wonder! If James could see the way Harry's treated in that house, he'd be rolling over in his grave!"

"Your indignation aside, I'm afraid that my word on the matter is final. However long he stays there, Harry must return to his relatives." Dumbledore suddenly looked very tired, and very old.

"Sirius, please!" Harry said as Sirius lurched out of his chair. "It's not a big deal, I can go back there for a few weeks…"

Sirius looked as though he had a few more choice words to say to Dumbledore, but at the pleading look in Harry's eyes he merely huffed and sat back down.

Dumbledore regarded him seriously. "I will not deny that your sentiments are noble," he told Sirius softly. "But whatever Harry might suffer in that house, it is nothing compared to what would happen if someone like Bellatrix Lestrange got her hands on him."

"Bellatrix Lestrange is in Azkaban—"

"But not all of Voldemort's supporters are," Dumbledore finished simply. "As you learned for yourself this past year." He looked at Sirius over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "So what are you going to do?"

"Find a house, I suppose." Sirius was still snarling. "And ward it with every protection known to wizardkind. And get Harry away from those Muggles the _second_ we're finished, do you understand?" He rose from his chair.

Dumbledore nodded sagely, seeming not in the least bit perturbed by Sirius's manner.

On his way to the door, Sirius stopped and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "If I'm going to get you out of there before September, I need to start working now. So this is goodbye, Harry—but only for a little while. We'll see each other again soon." With that, he strode out of Dumbledore's office.

They sat for a few minutes in silence, while Dumbledore surveyed Harry over the tops of his half-moon spectacles.

"Is this all right with you, Harry? You still do not seem entirely happy."

Harry sighed. "I just wish… It would be nice if I didn't have to go back to the Dursleys at all." He tried to keep a whining note out of his voice, but wasn't entirely sure he had succeeded.

Dumbledore smiled. "An understandable sentiment, if an untenable one. But now that you know the reason, I can see that you are taking the whole thing much better than I thought you would."

Harry nodded. "I've lived with the Dursleys for years; I can put up with them for a few more weeks. Besides… I'll be a lot less miserable if I know someone's coming to get me out."

"I know, Harry. Believe me, I do know. I regret having to put you in such a situation, but I still believe that it was the best option."

Harry nodded and got up to leave. When he was halfway across the office, though, something else occurred to him.

"Professor?" Dumbledore looked up. "I had my Divination exam yesterday…" And he told Dumbledore all about Professor Trelawney's strange behavior, and about the things she had said in that harsh voice that was quite unlike her own. "Do you think she was making a real prediction?" Harry paused. "But… that doesn't make sense. She said that Voldemort's servant was going to set out to return to him because of the events of last night, but Pettigrew was caught. Does that mean the prophecy isn't going to come true? Do all prophecies even _have_ to come true?"

"I am truly glad you asked me that, Harry. First of all, I can tell you that yes, she was making a real prediction. As for coming true, I think it likely… no, I think it _probable_… that not all prophecies must come to pass. If there's anything you should learn from studying Divination, Harry, it's that the web of cause and effect is always so complicated, with consequences so diverse, that predicting the future is a very difficult business indeed… Professor Trelawney, bless her, is living proof of that."

Harry nodded. "I understand, sir."

* * *

**A/N:** Wow, this story has gotten a much bigger response than I expected after just the first chapter. I already have 18 subscriptions, 9 reviews and even a handful of faves. To everyone who has subscribed, reviewed, or faved, thank you! I'm going to do my best to keep this story going, and hope it continues to hold your interest.

Right now I'm looking at weekend updates, most likely late Saturday/early Sunday depending on your time zone. Not exactly prolific, I know, but for the time being I'm setting a pace I know I can stick to (though I still may need to take an occasional hiatus depending on what other things are going on in my life).

Comments on the chapter: I couldn't find a way to save Buckbeak without resorting to a really convoluted and unbelievable plot. Sorry, Buckbeak fans - it wasn't something I enjoyed doing, believe me.

In the Author Notes for _Escape From Azkaban_, I mentioned how much I hated writing Hagrid's dialogue. I still do. Hagrid not being affected by a werewolf's bite is an assumption on my part, but I think it's a reasonable one.

The conversation between Dumbledore and Sirius was a hard one to write, because I can't see either one of them budging on the issue. Forcing Dumbledore into telling them about the blood wards was one of my main goals there. Sirius's house being sold while he was in prison is another assumption I think is reasonable, since it was a life sentence and he didn't have any heirs at the time (Grimmauld Place was an exception because of the magic controlling inheritance, as explained in HBP). Not to mention that after twelve years in Azkaban most people are in no fit state to make decisions concerning their property.

Well, that's it for this chapter. 'Till next time, and thanks for reading!


	4. YEAR3 News and Post

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. I'm only borrowing her characters.

_**

* * *

Sirius Black Innocent**_

_ In a surprising announcement this week, the Ministry of Magic revealed that Sirius Black, long thought to be You-Know-Who's right-hand man, is, in fact, innocent of all charges._

_ This revelation comes with the capture of Peter Pettigrew, formerly thought dead. When questioned under Veritaserum Pettigrew revealed that he, not Black, was Secret-Keeper for Lily and James Potter, that he betrayed their whereabouts to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and that he blew up the street with his wand behind his back when Black confronted him, framing Black for his murder and killing thirteen people with a single curse (for the full story, see page 12)._

_ Pettigrew also confessed to being an unregistered Animagus with the ability to turn into a rat, and that he has used this power to remain in hiding ever since the downfall of You-Know-Who. "Of course I had no idea who he really was," says Hogwarts third year Ronald Weasley, who had been keeping him as a pet. "If I'd known, I'd've tossed him straight to Hermione's cat." (Full interview is on page 17.) "Of course, full precautions against this ability will be taken when Pettigrew is sent to Azkaban," said Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge._

_ An Order of Merlin, Second Class, has been awarded to Hogwarts teacher Severus Snape for his role in capturing and interrogating Pettigrew and for saving the life of Harry Potter, whom it is believed Pettigrew intended to murder._

_ "Of course, Potter has always been known for his recklessness," Snape said in an interview as _The Prophet_ went to print. "Others' insistence on giving him special treatment has done nothing to curb this unfortunate impulse of his—this is not the first time a teacher has been forced to save him from a dangerous situation precipitated by his own foolish behavior."_

_ Black was not available for comment._

"Would you look at that?" Harry said over his eggs and toast. "I've never seen Snape gloat this much, and he was unconscious the entire time!"

The three of them were leaning over the morning edition of _The Daily Prophet_. On the front page, under the headline proclaiming Sirius's innocence, was a picture of Sirius standing between Fudge and Dumbledore, his eyes shifting from side to side as if he would rather have been anywhere else. In the picture beside it they could see Peter Pettigrew, surrounded by dementors and looking as though he were about to faint.

Ron had gotten a complimentary copy of _The Prophet_ after the interview he'd given on his life with Pettigrew (Harry had refused to talk to reporters). Now Ron sat slightly to the side of them, reading and rereading the page that contained his interview, while Harry and Hermione pored over the headline on Sirius.

"You really should consider framing this, Harry," she said, smoothing the paper over the table.

"Yeah… frame it… good idea, that…" Ron was clearly still off in his own world.

Harry snorted. "Like I want the news that Snape received an Order of Merlin for dangling in the air for an hour hanging on my wall."

"Well at least hold onto it for Sirius, then. I'm sure he'd appreciate having it."

Harry shrugged and, more to mollify her than anything else, folded the article and put it in his pocket. Hermione was still scanning the rest of the paper.

"Hey, look at this!" The tone of her voice was enough to drag Ron's attention away from his interview, and the three of them bent over the paper to read the article that had caught her attention.

_**Ministry Official Disgraced**_

_ In the wake of the news of Sirius Black's innocence, we must ask ourselves who is responsible for this gross miscarriage of justice, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_. After extensive research into the history of Black's case, this reporter found that he was thrown into Azkaban without a trial on the orders of none other than Barty Crouch, then Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

_ The atrocities committed on Crouch's orders don't stop there. Black wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without a trial, and one must wonder how many other innocent people are now sitting in Azkaban. Other sources have revealed that, in his blind determination to become Minister of Magic, Crouch even went so far as to send his own son to Azkaban. The boy died a year later._

_ Is it possible that Crouch's son was also innocent? Might this former favorite for Minister have stained his hands with the blood of his own child? Even if the son was guilty, one must ask how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. Had his father really cared for him so little as to send him running into the arms of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?_

_ Yet even after the outrage of condemning his own son to a fate worse than death, Crouch still holds a prestigious position at the Ministry of Magic, and is currently head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. What's more, Crouch has retained his mania for catching Death Eaters, as followers of You-Know-Who have styled themselves._

_ "I went on trial once myself," confessed Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and former Beater for the Wimborne Wasps. "Did something a bit stupid, really… But no matter, I got off in the end…"_

_ Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge also commented extensively on Crouch's history. "I was at the trial where they sent Crouch's son to Azkaban. Thoroughly nasty business, it was. His wife was sobbing uncontrollably… I hear she died soon after the trial, just wasted away with grief…"_

_ Crouch himself has refused comment._

They read the article together in silence.

"Barty Crouch?" Ron wrinkled his nose. "Dad's mentioned him a couple times… they've worked together on bewitched Muggle artifacts before."

"Are they friends, then?"

"Not really. I mean, Crouch is a lot higher up and he's really strict about rules and stuff… lot like Percy, actually."

"Did you ever think that he'd have done something like this, though?" Harry could feel a chill creeping up his gut. To just be grabbed off the street and handed in to the dementors, without even a chance at a trial…

Ron shrugged. "Well, this Skeeter woman sure is giving him what he deserves. I should look her up… see if I can give her any dirt on Malfoy…"

"_Ron!_"

The start of classes saved Harry from having to listen to the rest of their bickering.

* * *

Harry had not forgotten what Dumbledore had said about thanking Snape, but he was finding it rather difficult. For one thing, every time Harry passed him in the hallway Snape had a smug look on his face, and it was all Harry could do not to hex him. For another, Snape was in such a good mood that he had stopped singling Harry out and looking for excuses to take points off Gryffindor, and Harry was not eager to remind the man of his existence. So he bent his head and pretended he hadn't seen Snape at all, because he didn't trust what he would say if he opened his mouth.

He knew that he couldn't wait forever, though. As the end of term approached Dumbledore started catching his eye from the Head Table at every meal, and Harry didn't need a crystal ball to know what he was trying to say. And what was even worse, Hermione had started in on him too.

"You said you'd do it, so you ought to do it."

"I know, okay? I'm just waiting for the right moment."

Ron snorted. "There is no right moment for something like this, mate. Just do it, you'll feel a lot better afterwards."

But Harry didn't do it. Every day he thought _tomorrow, I'll do it tomorrow_, and before he knew it, it was the last day of term.

The three of them were eating lunch in the Great Hall when Harry saw Snape rise from his place at the Head Table. Before he knew what he was doing, he had shoved his plate aside and gotten up. "That's it," he said, "I'm not going to have this hanging over my head all through the feast. Let's go."

So they followed Snape from the Great Hall. The moment it looked like they were alone, Harry called, "Professor?"

Snape turned around, sneering. "Yes, Potter? Was there something you wanted?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Thank you for coming after us in the Shrieking Shack."

Hermione jumped in. "And… and… we're sorry that we attacked you. Aren't we, Ron?"

"Yeah, sure." He was rubbing his side where Hermione's elbow had dug into his ribs. "Whatever you say."

Snape surveyed them for a minute more, as if he doubted the sincerity of their intentions. "Hmph." He gave them all a final glare, and swept down the hallway as if nothing had happened at all.

* * *

"You have to admit, that could have gone a lot worse."

"Oh, give it a rest, Hermione," said Ron, unwrapping a Chocolate Frog. "Card, Harry?"

"Oh. Sure." Harry took the card but didn't look at it; instead, he was watching the scenery go by out the window of the Hogwarts Express. He knew that all too soon, the wild country would give way to farmland and then he would be back in King's Cross, listening to Uncle Vernon tell him what an unnatural freak he was.

It wasn't as though things would be all bad, though, Harry forced himself to remember. For one thing, he had a packet of letters from Sirius clutched tightly in his hand. The latest of them contained the news that Sirius now had a house—in an attempt to compensate for twelve years in Azkaban, the Ministry had offered him everything from a thousand Galleons to add to his Gringott's vault to free tickets to the Quidditch World Cup. Sirius had already turned down several manor houses complete with servants before finding a small cottage out in the country, which he, Dumbledore, and Lupin would start warding right away. He didn't know when they would be finished, but the letter ended with a promise that he would get Harry out of the Dursleys' clutches the second they were. He was rereading it for the third time when he heard Hermione saying his name.

"Harry?" She was peering over his shoulder. "What's that outside your window?"

Harry turned to look outside, and saw a tiny owl bobbing up and down outside of the glass, carrying a letter that was much too big for it. He lowered the window, caught it, and pulled it back inside. The owl dropped its letter onto Harry's seat and began zooming around the compartment.

Harry picked up the letter. "It's from Sirius! But we've been using Hedwig…"

"Never mind that now!" said Ron excitedly. "Go ahead and read it!"

_Dear Harry_,

_ I hope this finds you before you reach your aunt and uncle. I have some doubts about this owl's reliability, but he did seem eager for the job. I thought your friend Ron might like to keep him, as it's my fault he no longer has a rat._

_ I'm writing to tell you that the warding is going to take a bit longer than we anticipated, and you'll have to stay with your relatives until we're done. I am, however, enclosing something that will hopefully make your summer more tolerable._

_ I'll write again soon._

_Sirius_

Harry's heart sank, but he looked inside the envelope. There was another piece of parchment in there, and it was addressed to Vernon and Petunia Dursley. He turned it over and over in his hands as Ron happily examined his new owl.

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped back through the barrier of platform nine and three-quarters, Harry spotted Uncle Vernon at once. He said good-bye to his friends and made his way toward his uncle, who greeted him in his usual fashion.

"What's that?" he snarled, staring at the piece of parchment in Harry's hand. "If it's another form for me to sign, you've got another—"

"It's not," said Harry. "It's a letter to you from my godfather."

Vernon scowled as he took the letter. "That criminal the old crackpot wrote us about a week ago? Taking his time taking you off our hands, isn't he?" He unfolded the letter and started reading. Immediately his face went red, deepening to a darker shade of purple the further he got. When he reached the end of the letter, though, all the color drained out, leaving his face a sickly shade of greenish-white.

"He wouldn't… he couldn't… not…" Vernon abruptly shut up and turned to Harry, looking at his nephew as though afraid he would suddenly sprout poisonous fangs and start attacking. When he spoke it sounded as though he were choking on something.

"Come on, then." He looked as though he were about to say something else, but then glanced at the letter again and apparently thought better of it. He set off toward the station exit and Harry followed him, looking forward to a summer much better than the last.

* * *

**A/N:** And that's it for Year 3. A few comments on the content:

I liked the idea of Ron really relishing his fifteen minutes of fame, since he's always been jealous of Harry getting all the attention. And if he ever had an interview in the paper, I could definitely see him wanting to frame it.

Whether Snape really deserved that Order of Merlin is certainly up for debate - a debate which I will be staying out of, as I have no desire to be caught between the Snape-lovers and Snape-haters. I'd like to note, however, that the original idea was actually Fudge's, and he would have gotten one in canon if Sirius hadn't escaped, so I'm not going to waste my time defending that decision any further.

As for Crouch's old skeletons being dragged out of the closet, and Sirius's letter to the Dursleys... well, let's just say that those Butterfly Effect ripples are starting to spread. What will happen with Crouch, and whether Vernon will stay intimidated, remains to be seen.

In other news, after the last chapter I've finally written enough to set up my beta profile, which is really what got me onto this site in the first place. Now that that's done, I just need to start following my own advice and find someone to beta this story.

'Til next time, then!


	5. YEAR4 The Best Birthday Ever

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters nor am I making any profit off of this story. The world of Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling.

* * *

In spite of Uncle Vernon's sudden reluctance to insult him, Harry's arrival at Privet Drive was not a pleasant one.

The minute he opened the door it was to the sounds of Dudley throwing a tantrum that was nothing short of epic. "I—WON'T!" he yelled, his face screwed up and as red as a beet. A teary-eyed Aunt Petunia was standing to the side, trying to cajole him, though Harry very much doubted that Dudley could hear her over the sound of his own screams.

Harry didn't stick around to find out what the argument was about; he had had far too much prior experience as Dudley's punching bag. Instead he grabbed his trunk and Hedwig's cage and bolted for the stairs. Uncle Vernon didn't even try to lock up his possessions this time; whether because of Sirius's letter or because he was distracted by Dudley's tantrum Harry didn't know, but he wasn't about to question his good fortune.

Even upstairs things weren't much quieter. Dudley's yells were so loud he was surprised they didn't wake up the entire neighborhood, and now Uncle Vernon's shouting was added to the mix. Harry could almost feel the floor of his bedroom shaking. What's more, Hedwig had woken up and started screeching the minute he walked in the door; apparently she didn't like the noise any more than he did. Sighing, Harry took out parchment and quill and scrawled a quick note to Ron, which he tied to Hedwig's scaly leg.

"You'd better go stay at The Burrow until things calm down," he said, opening the window and letting her out of her cage. Hedwig gave him a quick nip on the ear and flew off into the night.

The week that followed wasn't much better. Indeed, Harry found out the cause of the argument the very next day, and suddenly the magnitude of Dudley's tantrum wasn't at all surprising.

He therefore did his best to stay out of the Dursleys' way, and especially out of Dudley's, while his cousin's diet was hammered out. On the night Aunt Petunia emptied the fridge of all the fattening food and drinks that Dudley loved so much, Harry stayed out of the house until well after dark.

When he came home it was to find a red-faced Dudley sitting at the kitchen table with Aunt Petunia's arms around him. Uncle Vernon glowered at Harry the minute he walked in the door, but it seemed as if he had still not gotten up enough nerve to bully him, for all he did was grunt and turn back to Dudley and Petunia.

"…and we'll _all_ follow the diet, popkin, _all_ of us. Will that make you feel better, Diddykins?"

Vernon grunted something about "having to live off rabbit food," but subsided at a look from his wife.

Harry frowned. The Dursleys fed him little enough as it was, but now he was going to be expected to follow a diet as well? And knowing his aunt and uncle, they'd see to it that Dudley always got more to eat than Harry. Sirius still hadn't said when he would be by to get Harry out of there, and at this rate Harry thought it all too likely that he would starve to death first.

This was going to be a long summer indeed.

* * *

The days dragged on. The diet was putting a strain on the whole household. Dudley had thrown several more tantrums, each of which ended with one of Aunt Petunia's precious possessions being broken. After about a week of this Dudley realized that nothing he did would get his parents to stop his diet, and had taken to sulking all about the house.

Vernon was showing the strain almost as much as Dudley was, as Harry realized when he overheard the first real argument between his aunt and uncle.

It was a particularly hot day; Harry was outside because it was one of the few places Dudley wouldn't follow him in this weather. He was sitting unobtrusively in the back yard, hidden in a clump of hydrangea bushes, when he heard Uncle Vernon's voice carried to him through the open window.

"…threatened us, Petunia, _threatened_ us, and I won't have it! The man is a dangerous criminal, he's a menace!" Though Vernon's voice was quiet enough to keep all but the nosiest of neighbors from overhearing, Harry had never heard him sound so angry.

Petunia's voice was even quieter, and Harry had to strain to hear her. "Haven't I told you we can't do anything about it? If we try to do anything to him, it would only get more of _their lot_ involved."

"Then the boy can go for good for all I care!" Harry had the feeling that it was costing Uncle Vernon everything he had not to roar the words. "He has that psychopathic murderer, serve him right if he gets killed!"

"Vernon, we've been over this!" Strangely enough, Petunia's voice was somehow as firm as Harry had ever heard it. "The boy stays. He stays and that's final."

The Dursleys were talking about him, then, and Sirius too from the sound of it. Before he could hear more, though, they moved to another part of the house and Harry didn't quite dare to follow them.

But why would Aunt Petunia, of all people, insist on him staying at Privet Drive? Surely she'd be as eager as Uncle Vernon to be rid of him for good, especially now that they knew of his godfather's existence. Could she just want to keep him miserable? That was a good bet, Harry thought bitterly, but somehow it just didn't add up.

Harry didn't dwell on the conversation, though; he had better things to think about than his aunt.

* * *

A few more weeks at Privet Drive, and Harry's birthday had arrived.

Not that he expected anything from the Dursleys; after all, he had yet to get a proper birthday gift from his relatives. So at breakfast he ate his unsweetened grapefruit quarter without complaint and pretended the day was just like any other.

Still, he had to wonder. Up in his room, as he had a proper breakfast from the survival packages that his friends had sent, he couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't yet sent him anything for his birthday. He wasn't expecting much—just a card, maybe, or a note saying "Happy Birthday, Harry…"

Come to think of it, he hadn't heard from any of his friends for nearly a week. Hedwig had brought him back an occasional dead mouse over the past few days, but never a card or a letter. He wondered what they were doing that was important enough to make them forget his birthday. Surely nothing had happened to them… but wouldn't he have heard if there had?

Harry was in a thoroughly bad mood by lunchtime, which wasn't helped by the wilted salad Aunt Petunia served. He had just choked down the last of his portion and was getting up to do the dishes when he heard a rumbling outside.

He looked out the window. Harry was fairly certain that it was an engine he heard, but nothing whatsoever was visible on the street. Finally, though, after the rumbling had grown louder and louder for nearly half a minute, its source turned a corner and came into view.

Harry's jaw dropped.

It was Sirius, and he was riding the biggest motorbike Harry had ever seen. As Harry watched he cruised down the street as if he hadn't a care in the world, coming to a stop right in front of Number 4, Privet Drive.

Harry ran to fling open the door, ignoring Uncle Vernon's shouts of "damn hoodlums!" Sirius was standing outside, grinning, and Harry noticed that what looked like half the neighborhood had come out to stare at him.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" he said, striding to the door.

"Does this mean the house is done?"

"Yep." Sirius grinned. "I would have told you earlier, but I wanted it to be a surprise and—"

"WHAT IS THE BLOODY MEANING OF THIS!" Uncle Vernon had come to the door, purple-faced with rage. He stomped down the front walk. "This, sir, is a respectable neighborhood! What do you mean by coming here, without so much as a by-your-leave, disturbing the peace with that—that—"

"Go get your things, Harry," said Sirius, without taking his eyes from Vernon's face. "I need to have a word with your uncle."

Harry didn't need telling twice. He sprinted back through the door, past his terrified aunt and cousin, and up the stairs to his room. As he started throwing things into his trunk he could hear his uncle shouting again, matched this time by Sirius.

By the time he had dragged his things back down the stairs, though, things seemed to have settled. Vernon was standing just inside the front door, and his piggy eyes narrowed when Harry came into his sight.

"Well, go on, boy," he said, glaring. "Make a good pair, you will… might have known only a hoodlum like him would want a delinquent like you…" He stomped aside, leaving the path clear for Harry to leave. No sooner had he gotten through the front door than it slammed behind him.

Sirius came forward to help him with his trunk. "What did you say to him?" Harry demanded. "I do have to come back here, you know."

Sirius scowled. "Oh, just a few choice words concerning their treatment of you. Don't worry, Harry, I'm sure he'll get over it by next summer and be back to his usual nasty self."

Privately, Harry wasn't so sure about that. He had lived with Vernon for thirteen years, and from what he knew the man never forgot an insult. If Sirius had really angered him, it would be a miracle if Harry made it through the next summer alive. He didn't argue, though, concentrating instead on heaving his trunk into the motorbike's sidecar.

The ride out of Surrey was a pleasant one; though the bike's engine was too loud for them to talk, Harry enjoyed watching the scenery fly past and the feel of the wind on his face. Several times he noticed Muggles staring rather openly at the huge bike. It wasn't long, though, before they left the populated areas and found themselves cruising down dusty country roads. Sirius stopped the bike.

"Are we there already?"

"No, we're not. See any Muggles around, Harry?"

"No…"

"Excellent." Sirius grinned mischievously, and before Harry could ask what he was doing he revved the motorbike, pulled up on the handlebars, and the earth was falling away beneath them. Sirius threw back his head and laughed, and it was all Harry could do not to let out a whoop of his own, even though he didn't think it would be a good idea: it was taking all he had just to hold on.

They cruised for an hour or more, and Harry never tired of looking down and watching the landscape below him. He saw scattered trees, herds of animals, and the occasional lone car driving down a country road. All too soon (or maybe not, since his face was starting to feel frightfully windburned), Sirius looked down, scanning the ground for signs of Muggles, and began their descent. There was a gentle bump as they landed on a narrow dirt road.

Harry thought they would continue their drive down the road, but Sirius had stopped and was digging through his pockets. "Where _is_ it?" he muttered distractedly. Finally, though, he yelled "Aha!" and drew out a small slip of parchment.

"Read it and memorize it," he said, passing it to Harry. He took the paper from Sirius and unfolded it.

"Alder Cottage?" he asked.

"Yep, that's our home. Have you memorized the address?" Harry nodded. "Good." Sirius grabbed the piece of parchment and set fire to it with his wand.

Harry looked around. There was still no sign of anything other than the dirt road and the fields stretching off into the distance on either side. "But where's—?"

"Think about what you've just memorized."

Harry thought, and suddenly a long dirt lane emerged between two of the fields to the side of the road. Sirius, grinning at Harry's open-mouthed amazement, revved the bike again and steered it down the lane. "Never seen a _Fidelus_ at work before, have you?" he yelled over the roar of the engine.

"That was _Fidelus_?" Harry shouted back.

"Yep. Dumbledore's our Secret-Keeper this time; he wrote that note you just read. So we shouldn't have to worry about—"

He was cut off as they rounded a cluster of trees and a cheer erupted from several people at once. Harry gaped. There, on the grassy lawn in front of a small wooden house, were several long tables laden with presents and food. Sitting around the tables were Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, Lupin, Fred, George, Ginny, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Stretched over the whole party was a long banner that read _Happy Birthday, Harry!_

"Harry! Oh, Harry!" Hermione was running toward them, and threw her arms around him as he climbed awkwardly off the back of the bike. "I do hope you didn't think we'd forgotten you, but Sirius was planning a surprise party and—"

"Let him breathe, Hermione." Ron had followed more slowly, grinning. "You didn't, did you? Think we'd forgotten about you, I mean?"

"Well, I—" Harry lowered his voice. "I actually did wonder for a few minutes this morning. But it's fine," he continued as Ron opened his mouth, looking horror-struck, "this is the best birthday I've ever had."

Ron closed his mouth.

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon opening presents and catching up with his friends. Ron had gotten him a box of chocolate frogs and a large bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Hermione a book full of stunts and tricks one could do on a broomstick (Harry resolved to try some of these the next time he got out on his Firebolt), and Fred and George a box of sweets in bright wrappers, which they suggested he give to Dudley at the next possible opportunity. Harry tucked these away in the bottom of his deepest pocket; the last thing he needed was for his relationship with the Dursleys to get more antagonistic than it already was.

He was chatting with Ron about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup ("Dad's trying to get tickets from work; you have to come see it with us") when Sirius laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go ahead and take your things inside, Harry; I want to show you around the house a bit."

Harry agreed readily enough, and soon Sirius was levitating his trunk inside. Harry followed with Hedwig's cage and his Firebolt; Lupin, he noticed, had broken away from the crowd to join them.

The house was nothing like Number Four, Privet Drive. The first thing Harry noticed was that it was very open, with many large windows that let a fluttering breeze play all through the house. Just to the right of the front door was a small kitchen, and beyond that a sitting room. A couch and several cozy-looking armchairs clustered around a small fireplace.

"This house is off the Floo network," said Lupin, who appeared to have noticed the direction of Harry's gaze. "We put up anti-Apparition wards around the entire property, as well. It's just about the safest place you could be right now, except maybe Hogwarts."

"I dunno," Harry said. "I've gotten quite a few injuries at Hogwarts."

Sirius barked out a laugh. "Come on, Harry, I'll show you your room."

Just off the sitting room was a hallway. Sirius pointed toward the end of it, where there was another large window and, Harry could see, the hall took a turn to the left. "If you ever need me, Harry, my room is down there. Now _this_," he pushed open the door immediately to their right, "is yours."

It wasn't a large room, but Harry liked it very much. There were high windows on two of his walls, and the sunlight pouring in seemed to light up the honey-colored wood of the walls and floor. It was sparsely furnished; there was a bed up against the wall (Harry noted happily that the sheets and rug were in Gryffindor colors), a wardrobe at the foot of that, and a desk in the corner of the room, right underneath the windows. He moved closer and saw that one of these gave him a view of a grove of trees, the other of a small stream.

Sirius settled Harry's trunk on his bed and turned to him anxiously. "It's small, I know. Only one floor and all. Out in the middle of nowhere, and it's a long flight even to the nearest place with a Floo connection…"

Harry smiled. "I love it. This is one of the best houses I've ever been in."

For a moment Sirius looked genuinely shocked. Then Lupin turned to him with a smirk (_since when did Lupin even know _how_ to smirk?_ Harry wondered), and held out his hand.

"I told you he'd like it, Padfoot," he said. "You owe me ten Galleons, my friend."

* * *

**A/N:** I know this isn't the most exciting chapter in the world, but there's only so much I can gloss over and it's setting up a few things for the future. So please, bear with me here :)

I had the darndest time coming up with a name for Sirius's house. (Such things are not my strong point, as the title of this fic can attest.) A few minutes before posting this I finally gave up on finding the perfect name and just settled on one that was merely suitable. I didn't have anything specific in mind while designing the house itself, just "the complete opposite of Grimmauld Place."

**QueenSunset:** Wherever did I say I wouldn't be continuing this story? The last chapter was the end of third year, not of the fic, and I'm sorry if I said anything misleading in that regard. I'll be adding to this story for a good long time :)

**Zarina:** You have a valid point as far as Crouch is concerned, but this _is_ a Skeeter article and she's not above bending the facts if it'll stir up trouble. Most likely she found out the basic story and then said whatever she thought would be most inflammatory.

**Jen11:** Revealing the contents of that letter has honestly never crossed my mind before now, but I'll consider it. It'll make a good bonus chapter, at the very least.

Well, I think that's it for now. Hope you enjoyed!


	6. YEAR4 The First Dream

**Disclaimer: **The world of Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. I'm only borrowing her characters.

Also, a heads-up for anyone who actually pays attention to the update schedule: _there will be no new chapter next weekend._ I don't post personal information online, so suffice it to say that there's something very important to me going on, and I need to focus all my energies on that rather than on writing. The regular schedule will resume the weekend after next.

_

* * *

...the chair was facing Frank, and he saw what was sitting in it. His walking stick fell to the floor with a clatter. He screamed…_

* * *

Harry awoke with his scar burning. He clapped a hand to his forehead and sat up in bed. He tried to remember what he had been dreaming about. There had been a dark room… two men he didn't recognize, one young, one old… and Voldemort…

He put his face in his hands, trying to remember the dream, but it was slipping away from him… Voldemort and his servant had been talking about a plan… something involving Harry…

Harry got up and paced his bedroom. The last time his scar had hurt him, it was because Voldemort had been close by… could he have gotten through the wards? But no, that was impossible, they'd taken every precaution… then again, so had his parents… but they were using Dumbledore this time…

He opened the door and poked his head out of the room. The house seemed peaceful. Moonlight streamed through the large window at the end of the hall, illuminating the place where the hallway took a turn to the left. Suddenly, Harry could hear Sirius speaking to him as though it were yesterday…

"_If you ever need me, Harry, my room is down there…"_

Well, Harry needed to speak to him now. Though he cringed at the thought of waking Sirius up in the middle of the night (he forcibly reminded himself that this was not Privet Drive and it was not Uncle Vernon in that room down the hall), this was important—what if Voldemort actually _was_ nearby?

He crept down the hallway and made the turn. Surprisingly, the door to his godfather's room was already ajar. Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pushed it open.

Sirius was not in bed. Instead, the moonlight illuminated the silhouette of a large black dog sitting in front of the window and gazing outside. When Harry opened the door one of the dog's ears swiveled in his direction, and all at once Sirius was standing in front of him, a concerned look on his face.

"Harry? What are you doing up at this hour?"

"What are _you_ doing?"

Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his long black hair. "I still have… nightmares… sometimes. About Azkaban," he added, seeing the puzzled look on Harry's face. His grimace said that this was something he would rather have kept secret, and Harry felt another twinge of guilt.

"But why were you—"

"It helps." Meeting Sirius's eyes, Harry could see that a haunted look still lingered about his face. It reminded him of the night they'd caught Pettigrew, when Sirius had just escaped twelve years of torment and spent months on the run, starving, desperate to kill the traitor. "I always felt the dementors… less… when I was a dog. A dog doesn't have the same emotional range…" He ran his fingers through his hair again and turned back to Harry. "Enough about me. What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"A dream…"

"Nightmare?"

"Not quite." Sirius gestured toward the bed, and they both sat down on it. "Voldemort was in it…" Harry rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "I woke up with my scar hurting. The last time that happened it was because he was nearby…"

Before Harry even finished speaking Sirius had whipped out his wand and was on his feet, muttering spell after spell under his breath. The walls of the room briefly glowed, as did the boundaries of the property outside. After a few seconds, though, the glow faded as if nothing had happened at all.

"Sirius?"

His godfather shook his head and sat back down, though Harry noted that he kept a firm grip on his wand. "Nobody else is here. As far as I can tell, the wards are fine."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "So… what does it mean, then?"

"I'm not sure… Harry, what can you remember of your dream?"

"Not much." He closed his eyes and thought, but most of the details had already slipped away from him. "Voldemort was talking to someone else. They were planning something to do with me." Harry scrunched up his eyes further, willing the dream to come clear, but all he managed to do was give himself the beginnings of a headache. "There was an old man there, I think." He opened his eyes. "I'm sorry. That's all I can remember."

Sirius sat in silence for a few moments; he appeared to be thinking. Then, quite abruptly, he got up and moved to his desk.

"What are you—"

"Writing to Dumbledore." Sirius was now digging around for parchment and quill. "There've been a lot of strange rumors going around lately, and I'd bet my Gringott's vault there's a connection." He paused, kneading his forehead. "If you want, you can go ahead and stay the rest of the night in here. Take the bed; I wasn't going to get any more sleep tonight anyway."

"Do you think that Voldemort is…"

"No. But I don't want to take any chances." Too tired to argue, Harry climbed into Sirius's bed. The last thing he heard as he drifted off was the scratching sound of a quill on parchment.

* * *

When Harry awoke the next morning, it was to find the room full of golden sunlight and Sirius gone. He got out of bed and padded out to the kitchen, to find breakfast already underway.

"Morning," Sirius greeted him, turning away from the stove as Harry poured himself some juice. He was holding a pan full of fried eggs and sausage.

Harry yawned as he helped himself. "Did you send the letter?"

"Yes, as soon as Hedwig got back this morning." Sirius ran a hand distractedly through his hair. "I hope he replies soon…"

WHAP! They both turned toward the direction of the sound, which seemed to have come from somewhere close to the open window. When Harry started to get up Sirius motioned him back into his seat and strode over to the window, wand out. Harry held his breath as Sirius stuck his head out to look…

Sirius burst out laughing. "Oh for the love of— _Accio!_" When he pulled his head and shoulders back inside, Harry saw that he was holding something that looked very much like a tennis ball with feathers.

"It's for you." Sirius handed him the letter while the owl zoomed around the room, hooting happily. It seemed to have recovered quickly from having run smack into a wall.

Harry recognized the handwriting on the envelope immediately. "It's from Ron!"

"Thought that owl looked familiar."

While the owl helped itself to some sausage, Harry tore open the envelope and began to read.

_Harry—DAD GOT THE TICKETS—Ireland versus Bulgaria, Monday night. You and Sirius have to join us; Dad was telling me your tickets are for the top box too._

_Oh and mum says you should both come over on Sunday evening if Sirius says it's all right. If you're coming send Pig back pronto and be there by five o'clock. If you can't, send Pig back pronto and we'll meet you there. You have to come, though, Hermione's arriving this afternoon._

_See you soon__,_

_Ron_

Harry handed the letter to Sirius, who read it through casually. When he finished he looked at the owl, which was now hovering over the table and twittering. "Am I reading this right?" he asked. "Did your friend really name that owl—" he squinted at the letter again, "—Pig?"

"That's what it looked like to me." He looked up at Sirius. "So…"

Sirius gave him a solemn look for a moment, and Harry was honestly afraid that he was going to say no. Then his face broke into a grin. "So go get packed already! If I know Molly you'll be staying at The Burrow till it's time to go back to Hogwarts."

* * *

**A/N:** This is a short chapter, but that seemed like the best place to stop it. The next one will be quite a bit longer. Promise.**  
**

Yeah, I know what you're thinking: "But isn't Wormtail in Azkaban?" That he is. So who's helping out Voldemort, then? All will be revealed in time...

We already know that Sirius used his Animagus ability as a coping mechanism while in Azkaban, and it makes sense that he would keep doing it afterward - remember how little Harry actually saw of him in the books, and how he had to be a dog for much of the time anyway; for all we know he might have done it in canon, too. Now, however, it seems to be turning into a rather unhealthy habit. He may have managed to keep his sanity, but it'll take Sirius a _long_ time to recover from twelve years in Azkaban, and in future chapters expect to see other ways it's still affecting him.

I could so see Pig missing the window and flying smack into a wall. Enthusiastic owl, but not too bright.

Once again, thanks to everyone who's faved or reviewed. Getting good feedback lets me know this whole thing isn't pointless, and motivates me to keep writing.


	7. YEAR4 The Quidditch World Cup

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter and am not making any money off of this story. Some of the dialogue in this chapter has been lifted from canon, but that is _only_ to establish the parallel as the timelines haven't diverged all that much yet, and I make no attempt to claim it as my own.

* * *

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips when Sirius landed the motorbike on The Burrow's front lawn, and Harry remembered with trepidation her reaction when she had found out about the flying car. She didn't say anything, however, for which Harry was grateful; the last thing he wanted was a fight between his godfather and his best friend's mother.

No sooner had he gotten off the motorbike than he was enveloped in one of Mrs. Weasley's bone-crushing hugs. "Go on, Harry dear, Ron and Hermione are inside. No, don't bother with that," as Harry moved to pull his trunk out of the sidecar, "I'll take care of it." She spared the bike one last disapproving glare before she began bustling about taking his things out of the sidecar. The last Harry saw of her she was removing his luggage with Sirius's help, and then the front door closed behind him and he found himself facing the group of people seated around the kitchen table. Harry had barely gotten through the introductions to Charlie and Bill when Fred and George burst into the room.

"How cool was that?"

"Beyond cool."

"Supercool." The twins seated themselves and looked expectantly at Harry, who returned their stares with a bewildered look.

"What?"

They looked at each other for a moment, and then stared at him as if whatever they were talking about should have been perfectly obvious. "_Your godfather has a flying motorbike,_" they said in unison.

"How did he do it?" demanded Fred.

"It's even cooler than Dad's flying car."

"Harry, you _have_ to find out for us—"

"He'll do no such thing." Mrs. Weasley had entered the room, levitating Harry's trunk in front of her. She was followed by Sirius, who wore a badly concealed grin. "It's one thing if _he_ wants to enchant such a dangerous Muggle contraption, but no children of _mine_ will have anything to do with such nonsense." She spared Sirius one last glare before continuing up the stairs with Harry's trunk. Sirius seated himself at the kitchen table.

"Sirius, you _have_ to tell us—"

"A flying motorbike—"

"How'd you do it, eh?"

Sirius held up a hand, though he was still smiling. "Now boys," he said, "much as I approve of such endeavors—" the twins looked hopeful, "—Molly is still your mother and if she says you're not to know I'm afraid I can't tell you." Fred and George shot him mutinous looks, though it was probably just as well since Mrs. Weasley chose that moment to reenter the kitchen.

They spent the rest of the afternoon playing two-on-two Quidditch (Harry and Ron against Fred and George) while Sirius, Ginny, and Hermione watched and Charlie called out pointers. By the time Mrs. Weasley called them in for dinner, everyone had had a turn on Harry's Firebolt and they were all pleasantly exhausted.

After dinner came bed, with Harry, Ron, Fred, and George sleeping in Ron's room and Bill, Charlie, and Sirius in Fred and George's. Harry fell asleep discussing Quidditch with Ron.

* * *

He was extremely groggy the next morning, but the long walk served to wake him up, as did Mr. Weasley's explanation of Portkeys. By the time they reached Stoatshead Hill and met the Diggorys, Harry was wide awake.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," said Amos Diggory as they gathered around the old boot. "Told us all about playing against you last year… I said to him, I said—Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will… _You beat Harry Potter!_"

"Harry fell off his broom, Dad. I told you, it was an accident…"

"Yes, but _you_ didn't fall off, did you? Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman… but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!"

Sirius, who had been silent up until now (Harry had discovered early on he wasn't a morning person), turned on Mr. Diggory and growled, "Being vulnerable to dementors has nothing to do with flying skill! I bet if you'd been murdered by Voldemort—" everyone flinched "—when Cedric was a year old, he'd have fallen off his broom as well!"

"Sirius, it's okay, you don't need to—"

"It is _not_ okay!" Sirius was clenching his fists so tightly that the knuckles had turned white. "You fell a good three hundred feet, you would have died if Dumbledore hadn't been there, and all _he_ can think of is who's the better Quidditch player!"

"But I _didn't_ die and Cedric tried to call for a rematch, it's not his fault either that I fell off and he didn't…"

Meanwhile, Cedric seemed to be making a similar effort to reason with his own father.

"…there were hundreds of dementors there, Dad, it was awful; I'm surprised I didn't fall off _my_ broom. And you have to remember he's just spent twelve years in Azkaban—"

Unfortunately this particular statement came right when there was a lull in everyone else's conversation, and it seemed to ring out in the still morning air. There was a very awkward silence.

Mr. Weasley coughed. "It's… er… a minute off…"

Harry had never been more relieved for an excuse to stop talking.

* * *

While Mr. Weasley got the location of their campsite and went about paying for it (with considerable help from Hermione), Harry pulled Cedric aside.

"Look, I—I'm sorry about what Sirius said. I think Azkaban's been on his mind a lot lately, and he saw how many dementors there were at that match—"

"No, really, I'm sorry my father thought he had to start something like that," said Cedric, swatting at a bug that was buzzing around his head. He frowned. "I don't know why he thinks it's so important I always be the best… he's been like that ever since I started school…"

"Ced! You coming?"

"In a minute, Dad!" Cedric turned back to Harry and sighed. "I do wish we could have had a normal match, though." Then, with a mischievous smile: "I would've liked to have beaten you fair and square."

"Ha!" Harry grinned, unable to help himself. "Well then, when _I_ beat _you_ in our next Quidditch game, I'll be glad to know it was a fair victory."

Cedric quirked an eyebrow. "We won't get swarmed by dementors again?"

"Not a chance."

He laughed and stuck out a hand. "Until our next match, then?"

Harry shook it. "I won't fall off my broom again."

"May the best man win."

* * *

"What were you doing talking with Cedric Diggory?" Ron demanded as they made their way to the top box.

Harry allowed himself an exasperated sigh. "He was apologizing for his father's behavior."

"Oh." Ron was silent for a moment, and Harry was sure that he was dreaming up some other protest. Sure enough, after just a few minutes:

"But you can't get friendly with Diggory, he's the captain of the Hufflepuff team, he beat us last year, and if you talk with him you're… you're…_ fraternizing with the enemy!_"

"It's not like this is a matter of life or death, Ron." Hermione spoke from Ron's other side, but Harry could almost _hear_ her rolling her eyes. "This is _Quidditch_."

"Exactly," said Ron, turning to Hermione with the air of one explaining that two and two made four. "This is _Quidditch_."

"Nothing like a good bit of romance, eh?" Harry turned to look at Sirius, who stood behind him and was watching Ron and Hermione, his eyes positively sparkling with humor.

"Romance?" Harry looked at his friends, who were now bickering quite intently (Ron apparently insisting that Quidditch really was a matter of life or death), then back at Sirius. "_Them?_"

"Sure. You can tell by the way they're always having a go at each other even though they're friends. It's obvious they fancy each other but they just don't… know…"

As Sirius trailed off, a stony lack of expression replaced his laughing good humor so quickly that it was like looking at a completely different person. Harry, following his gaze, looked toward the top box and saw one of the last people he wanted to run into right now.

"Well, well, well." Lucius Malfoy was standing above them, blocking the entry to the top box. Even Ron and Hermione had stopped bickering and were looking at him with expressions of mingled anger and fear. "Sirius Black. My, you have moved up in the world. Top box? I'm astounded the shock hasn't killed you after so much time in prison." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Then again, one trait peculiar to vermin is that they are so difficult to… eradicate."

Harry could feel Sirius shaking with rage. _Don't do anything stupid,_ he thought. _Please, Sirius, don't do anything stupid…_ He placed a hand on Sirius's wrist, willing him to hear the thought. To his surprise Sirius responded by clasping his hand in a death-grip the second Harry's fingers brushed his skin.

Harry squeezed back and forced himself to look in Lucius Malfoy's cold gray eyes. "How's Dobby doing, by the way?" he spat. "I haven't heard from him in awhile, you see. I'd really like to know how he's liking his freedom."

"Why, you—" Malfoy took a step toward Harry, snarling, but at the last second he seemed to remember where he was and forced himself to step back. "Insolent as ever, Potter," he sneered. "One of these days you'll see the error of your ways. By then, of course, it will be far too late."

"What's going on here?" came Mr. Weasley's voice from behind them. "Why have we—_Malfoy_."

"Arthur Weasley, too," he drawled with an air of boredom. His eyes roamed over the group. "A few of your children as well, from the looks of them. How many do you have, again? Twenty? Thirty? A pity you had to send the rest into starvation to bring these few." Mr. Weasley turned beet red. "And…" his gaze lit on Hermione, and his cold eyes narrowed. His upper lip curled as though he had smelled something distasteful.

"Such company. It is no wonder your mother disowned you, Black; you are a shame to her memory." Harry looked at Sirius, startled, but Sirius's eyes were locked on Malfoy and now he had actually drawn his wand.

"Sirius, _no!_" Hermione dashed forward and grabbed his wand hand while Harry was still frozen in place. "He's _trying_ to provoke you, this is what he wants…"

Harry shook himself into action and placed a hand on top of Hermione's. "She's right," he said to Sirius, who looked like he had half a mind to shake them both off and go charging up at Malfoy. He grasped Sirius's hand harder and placed himself firmly in front of his godfather. "If you attack him they'll send you back to Azkaban," Harry whispered fiercely. "Is that what you _want?_"

Fortunately, it seemed to do the trick. Sirius visibly shook himself, and with one last glare at Lucius Malfoy he pocketed his wand. Harry and Hermione released his hand.

"Let's go," Sirius snarled, and shoved his way past Malfoy and into the top box.

* * *

Harry wanted to ask Sirius about what Lucius Malfoy had said about his mother disowning him, but he was reluctant to bring up the subject and during the chaos of the World Cup there was no chance of getting a moment of privacy anyway. So Harry cheered Ireland along with his friends, and congratulated the twins on their winnings when Ireland won but Krum caught the Snitch, and joined in the enthusiastic discussion after the match. All the while, though, that question lingered in the back of his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder whether his godfather's childhood had been as miserable as his own.

Eventually Mr. Weasley made them all go to bed, but Harry couldn't sleep at first. He thought some more about Malfoy's words, and resolved to ask Sirius about it the moment they had a chance for a private discussion—though given the chaos of the Burrow and the likelihood of them staying there until the school year started, he had no idea when that would be.

With that question resolved, Harry rolled over and was asleep at once.

* * *

Next thing he knew, Sirius was shaking him roughly awake.

"Come on, Harry, get up!"

"'S' matter?"

Sirius thrust a jacket into his hands. "Just get outside—quickly!" Harry looked around, and saw that Mr. Weasley was dragging Ron and the twins from bed; Bill, Charlie, and Percy were nowhere to be seen.

Harry had registered the screams while pulling on his jacket, but it wasn't until he got outside and saw the masked figures that he recognized them as screams of terror. "That's sick," Ron muttered beside him. "That is really sick…"

Percy burst out of the girls' tent leading Ginny and Hermione, who were pulling on jackets over their nightdresses. Harry listened numbly to Mr. Weasley telling them to get into the woods and stick together. He looked back as they ran toward the trees, and got one last glimpse of the adults disappearing into the fray.

It was dark, and Harry was being pushed in every direction by people he couldn't see. Still, he kept looking back, trying to see whether anyone had reached the masked wizards yet, whether they had managed to get the Roberts family down, whether anyone was hurt…

Really, it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened.

All he knew was that his foot caught on something, then suddenly he was off balance and there was burst of pain in his head. He could hear Ron and Hermione's voices somewhere above him; it sounded like they were trying to find him…

"Oh, this is stupid—_lumos_!"

A sudden flash of light dazzled Harry's eyes. He moaned in pain and turned away, rubbing his head.

"Harry? Here, let me take a look." Hermione was pulling his hands away from his face with one hand and holding her lit wand with the other. "What happened?"

"Tripped," he muttered. "On a tree root." He sat up and rubbed the sore spot on his temple. "I'm all right, just bumped my head." Harry started to heave himself to his feet; Ron offered him a hand and pulled him up the rest of the way.

"Missing the hospital wing already, Potter?"

"Malfoy," Harry snarled, turning toward the direction of the voice. The younger Malfoy was leaning against a tree, watching them with an amused expression. He chuckled. "You'd better get moving, hadn't you? After all, you wouldn't want _her_ spotted."

"Meaning what, Malfoy?"

When he explained Ron started to lunge at him, but Harry and Hermione grabbed his arms. "Come on, let's go," Hermione snapped, and she and Harry began to drag Ron away. Malfoy laughed.

"Keep that big bushy head down, Granger!" he called as they walked away.

Further into the trees was a large crowd of people, looking as scared and confused as Harry felt. Ron and Harry lit their wands as well, and Ron began scanning the woods. "Where _are_ Fred and George? We should go look for them…"

"No need," said a voice to their right, and Fred, George, and Ginny emerged from the trees. "Where have you lot _been_, we've been looking all over for you…"

"What happened to your head, Harry?" Ginny asked softly.

"Fell. I tripped on a tree root."

"That's what held us up," Ron said. "And then we ran into Malfoy. Damnit, he as good as told us it's his parents out there in masks—"

They spent a good half hour speculating about Malfoy's parents, but even that became a good deal less interesting after awhile. Eventually Ron sat down on the forest floor and took out his model of Viktor Krum. Hermione had an arm around Ginny's shoulders and was talking to her in a low voice. Fred and George were exchanging furious whispers a few paces away. Harry began to drift off.

He didn't know how long he had sat there, eyes closed, with the voices around him drifting into his head but not making much sense, before he heard Mr. Weasley calling his name. "Harry? Come on, we're going back to the tents now." Harry yawned and lifted his head off his arms, and saw Mr. Weasley's eyes widen with concern. "What happened to your head?"

"I fell," he said shortly. How many times was he going to have to explain his stupid accident?

The others had gotten back to the tents before Harry's group did, and they looked the worse for wear. All of them sported a multitude of cuts and bruises, Percy's glasses were broken clean in half, and Sirius had a nasty-looking burn on his arm and shoulder.

"So what happened?" Ron asked as soon as they got inside. "Did you catch any of them?"

"No, we didn't _catch_ any of them," Sirius snarled, then hissed in pain as Charlie applied a salve to his burns.

"As soon as we got close enough to unmask them they dropped the Muggles," Bill explained, pressing a bedsheet to the cut on his arm. "We had our hands full just getting them down. And of course some of the masked wizards decided to stay and fight…"

"We managed it without any of them getting seriously hurt, though, thank goodness." Mr. Weasley sighed as he sank into a chair. "They're having their memories modified as we speak."

They discussed the attack for awhile longer, but soon Mr. Weasley insisted (for the second time that night) that everyone get to bed. Though Harry was very tired, it took a great deal longer for him to fall asleep this time around.

* * *

The next morning they caught an early Portkey out and walked back to the Burrow from Stoatshead Hill.

Hedwig arrived at the same time they did, and she was carrying a letter addressed to Sirius. As a harried-looking Mrs. Weasley ran out to greet her husband and children, Sirius took the letter and opened it.

"It's Dumbledore's reply." He scowled as his eyes scanned down the parchment. "As if I didn't know that already…" Harry looked at him curiously, but he shook his head and walked off to have a word with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. After a short, terse discussion with many glances in Harry's direction, Sirius beckoned him over.

"I'm afraid we'll have to leave a few days early," he said.

"But—"

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "No buts, dear, I'm afraid he's right." She enveloped him in a hug. "It was wonderful to have you, Harry. You'll have to come over sometime next summer."

"You'd better hurry up and get your things. We'll leave as soon as you're packed. I'm sorry, Harry," Sirius added in an undertone once they were out of earshot, "but Death Eaters running about in the open is a very bad sign. You ought to be somewhere that's well-protected."

Harry nodded morosely and continued up to Ron's room, where he began half-heartedly throwing his possessions into his trunk. A few minutes later, Ron came up to help him.

"Everything all right, mate? Why do you have to leave so early?"

"Dumbledore thinks I'll be safer there, that's all."

"Yeah, I suppose with Death Eaters getting that bold…"

"Well, we'll see each other in a week, anyway." It was infinitely better to be going back to Alder Cottage rather than Privet Drive, but Harry couldn't help but feel a bit wistful, all the same. He'd thought he'd have a whole week to spend with his friends before school started.

"Harry! Are you done yet?" Sirius's voice drifted up the stairs.

"Coming!" Harry yelled back. He tossed the last of his things into his trunk and reminded himself that it was just one more week.

* * *

**A/N:** Gah! I got caught up reading other people's fanfic and only just remembered that I was supposed to post a new chapter myself. Whoops.

No, there is no Dark Mark this time around. Yes, there is a reason for it, and eventually it will be revealed.

I'm aware that Sirius comes across as somewhat snappish in this chapter, but he is being consistently provoked by Amos Diggory (who, while not a bad person, has apparently never heard of tact) and Lucius Malfoy (who being married to his cousin probably knows quite a bit more about him than he would like), and then is in quite a bit of pain (Burns hurt! I would know). Given that in canon he had a hair-trigger temper and a tendency to act first and think later, I think his behavior here is consistent with his character. Rest assured that he is not going to be like this the whole story.

Holding onto Harry's hand like that was a way for Sirius to anchor himself. He's reminding himself that attacking Lucius Malfoy wouldn't be worth losing Harry, and I hope I managed to get that across rather than making it look like they'd switched roles - which was definitely not what I had in mind.

Bit of a shiptease there with Ron and Hermione. I just couldn't resist. (And yes, they will eventually be paired. Just thought I'd go ahead and get that out now.)

I don't think Molly would approve of the motorbike at all. The twins, however, are another story. And just think, they don't even know Sirius is a Marauder yet...

Until next week, then!


	8. YEAR4 Yellow Journalism

I'm posting this chapter early because I don't know for sure when I'll next have internet access. There's a bit more detail in the author notes, but for now, here's the next chapter.

**Disclaimer:** Much as I wish I were in Rowling's position, I'm not. I don't own any of this and I'm not making money off of this fic.

* * *

Harry suffered a great deal of boredom over the next week. Even a little time with his friends had served to remind him of just how badly he missed them every summer, and though Ron and Hermione both sent him letters it just wasn't the same as spending time in their company. He found that he couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts.

That wasn't the only problem, either. Harry was very reluctant to admit it even to himself, but life at Alder Cottage seemed to have lost its luster. After the chaotic atmosphere of the Burrow the peaceful serenity of Sirius's house now felt like a ringing silence, and what had been leisure before quickly became boredom.

Whenever he caught himself thinking like this Harry scolded himself for being ungrateful, reminding himself that if not for Sirius's offer he might have spent the rest of the summer at 4 Privet Drive. This was made harder, however, by the fact that Sirius seemed to be sharing his melancholy. Though he put on a display of good humor whenever Harry was in the room he had grown a good deal quieter and more brooding since the Quidditch World Cup, and Harry suspected that both the Death Eaters' rampage and the confrontation with Lucius Malfoy were still on his mind. There were even a few times when Harry walked into a room to find Sirius napping on the couch or reading a book, even though he could have sworn he'd seen a fluffy black tail disappearing around the corner the moment before. He began to suspect that Sirius was spending a good deal more time as a dog than he'd been letting on.

He wanted to ask Sirius about what Lucius Malfoy had said concerning his mother, but after taking note of his godfather's continuous brooding Harry decided to wait until he was in a more approachable mood. Instead he started taking long walks (or, occasionally, flights) around the property to clear his head while he thought about how best to broach the subject. Unfortunately no brilliant ideas came to mind, and the night before he left Harry made up his mind to use the direct approach and just ask Sirius straight out at breakfast the next morning.

That plan was nixed, however, when Harry got up the next day to find Sirius in an exceptionally foul mood. When Harry entered the kitchen he looked up with a scowl before throwing the morning paper rather forcefully into the rubbish bin, after which he went about making breakfast with a great deal more clanging and cursing than usual.

It occurred to Harry to wonder whether Sirius had sensed his feelings of disappointment upon returning to Alder Cottage, and whether that was the cause of his current behavior. Harry had, he remembered with an upsurge of guilt, expressed his eagerness to return to Hogwarts many times over the past week, and Sirius had seemed to understand. But then again, said a small voice in the back of his head as Sirius threw a pan into the sink with a volley of curses, maybe it sounded like you were implying his house wasn't good enough for you. Maybe he's angry at you for being ungrateful.

Matters did not improve over the rest of the morning. All too aware that Sirius hadn't touched a bite of the breakfast he'd made, Harry ate as quickly as possible before dashing off to get his trunk out of his room. When he came back it was to find Sirius already outside with the motorbike running. He tossed his trunk into the sidecar and climbed on.

Sirius didn't turn around or smile, only revved the bike forcefully, and before Harry even realized they'd taken off they were in the air with a scream of tires against gravel. They rode the rest of the way to King's Cross in stony silence—not, Harry thought gloomily, that they could have talked over the noise of the motorbike's engine.

All in all, it was a relief to reach King's Cross and step through the magical barrier. When Harry began heaving his trunk toward the end of the train, however, Sirius stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Look, Harry, I—" He sighed. "I'm sorry I've been lousy company today. I've been having a bad time of it lately, but I promise it's nothing to do with you."

Harry thought of the amount of time he'd been spending in his Animagus form. "Have you been having nightmares about Az—"

"_Not here!_" Sirius looked from side to side as if making sure that no one else had heard them. In the hustle and bustle of the station, it didn't look as if anyone had. In a somewhat more normal voice, he continued, "No, it's nothing like that. Look, don't worry about it. I just don't want to say goodbye for the year with… this… hanging over our heads."

Harry looked up at him. "You're not angry with me?"

Sirius threw an arm around his shoulders in a brief one-armed hug. "I'm not, and I'm sorry I made you think that." He pulled away and pressed a badly-wrapped package into Harry's hands. "If your scar hurts again I want you to go straight to Dumbledore, and then use this to contact me. Promise me, Harry."

"What is—"

"There's no time to explain. Please. This is important."

Harry nodded. "I promise."

Sirius smiled and gave him a gentle push toward the scarlet steam engine. "Well go on then," he said gruffly. "Train's about to leave."

Harry ran, and managed to jump on with his trunk just as the Hogwarts Express started moving. As the train picked up speed he dragged his trunk toward the end, where he knew Ron and Hermione would be waiting for him.

Sure enough, he opened the door to the last compartment to find his two best friends already there, talking quietly with Ginny and Neville. The minute they noticed Harry they all looked up, their expressions unusually grim.

"What happened?" he asked as he stowed his trunk. The way they were looking at him, he half-expected them to tell him somebody had died.

"Harry, I think you'd better take a look at this." Neville handed him a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. The headline on the front page immediately grabbed his eye.

"_Sirius Black: Disturbed and Dangerous?_" he read out loud.

"There's more," Hermione said grimly. "You'd better go ahead and read the whole thing."

Grimacing, Harry opened the paper and obeyed. She was right: the rest of the article was even worse.

_**Sirius Black**_

"_**Disturbed and Dangerous"**_

_ Sirius Black, recently released from Azkaban Prison, is not as innocent as many seem to think, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Though he was cleared of all charges and allowed to assume guardianship of his godson Harry Potter, alarming evidence has recently come to light about Black's strange behavior, which casts doubt on his suitability to care for a child, or even to participate in normal society._

_ Black, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, regularly loses his temper over minor disagreements, and has been known to fly into a rage over even a casual mention of Azkaban. During the Quidditch World Cup, your Daily Prophet reporter witnessed none other than the Boy Who Lived apologizing for the behavior of his godfather, who had apparently lost his temper at Ministry of Magic employee Amos Diggory for bringing up the subject of dementors._

"How did she know about that?" Harry demanded. "It was just me and Cedric…"

"Keep reading," said Ron. "That's not the worst of it."

_ Diggory is not the only one to fall victim to Black's temper. Lucius Malfoy, a prominent and respected member of the magical community, also had much to say on the subject of this disturbing behavior._

_"The man could not even control himself on his way to his seat," said Malfoy in an exclusive interview. "When I greeted Black as he entered the top box he came within inches of hexing me in front of my wife and son. Such reprehensible behavior only serves to highlight his unstable temperament."_

_ This is not the extent of Black's disturbing behavior, however. Even more alarming than his tendencies to lose his temper during everyday conversations is a violent streak that is becoming more evident with the passage of time. Vernon Dursley, Potter's uncle and legal guardian prior to Black's discharge, has spoken of threats made against his family prior to Potter's release into Black's custody. Black might well have gotten charge of Potter by intimidating his relatives, forcibly removing him from the care of a loving family._

"A loving family? The _Dursleys_?" As laughable as that was, however, Harry was much more disturbed by something else. "How did she know about that letter from Sirius? Uncle Vernon would _never_ talk to someone if he knew she was magical." Not to mention that his aunt and uncle liked to pretend to the neighbors that he didn't exist; talking to a reporter about him was out of the question.

_ Later, at the Quidditch World Cup, Potter appeared with a large bruise on his head after a time during which both he and Black were unaccounted for, and notably after Potter had made apologies for Black's behavior. When asked about his injury, Potter would say only that he fell, an unconvincing cover story at best._

"But I _did_ fall!" Harry protested. "That stupid tree root…"

"We _know_, Harry," Hermione said.

_It is possible, say top experts at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, that Black's brain was affected by twelve years of exposure to dementors, and that his violent behavior is only a small taste of what is to come._

_ "Black is the only known person who has spent more than a month in Azkaban without going insane," said one specialist. "That in itself is highly suspicious. It's possible that his insanity is manifesting in different ways than we normally see."_

_ The Ministry should surely consider whether a man such as this ought to be allowed to retain custody of any child, much less the savior of the Wizarding world. Some fear that continued exposure to Black would be detrimental to Potter's soundness of mind as well as his physical safety._

Harry let out a breath. "No wonder Sirius was in such a bad mood this morning. He was reading the paper…" He tried not to show any sign of the panic that was beginning to surge through his body.

"Harry… do you think they might…"

"Try to separate us? I wouldn't be surprised." He folded the paper and leaned glumly back in his seat.

"But wouldn't Dumbledore—"

"I don't think Dumbledore can overrule the Ministry." Ron's mention of Dumbledore made him feel, if possible, even worse. Harry didn't want to tell his friends that Dumbledore hadn't wanted him to move in with Sirius in the first place.

At that moment Malfoy opened the door to taunt them about the article. Harry told him to shut up just like normal, but couldn't stop himself from worrying about losing the closest thing to a parent he'd ever had.

**A/N:** Okay, it's time for the Dreaded Announcement. I'm leaving for grad school tomorrow, which is why I'm posting this chapter early. It also means that from now on I won't have nearly as much time to write. Right now I have a substantial buffer and will be able to stick for my current schedule for quite awhile - through the end of year four, at least - but from what I understand grad school involves a very large time commitment and at some point I will have to cut back on updates, to every other weekend or maybe even once a month. I still have every intention of continuing this story, but be warned that eventually there will be less frequent updates as well as the occasional hiatus.

Chapter notes:

Skeeter's latest article came from the fact that the spotlight is now on Sirius rather than on Harry, due to all the fuss that was made in the wizarding world first because he escaped, and then because he was proven innocent. True to form, she came down on his side at first and started the slander when that got boring. And yes, the article does claim the Ministry released him rather than admitting they had the wrong man for twelve years only to have him escape right under their noses. Fudge might have some control over the Prophet even now (yes, Fudge is a bastard), and I doubt Skeeter would mind tweaking the facts if it got her article printed faster.

Harry is pretty insecure at this point. After thirteen years of the Dursleys telling him he's a waste of space and money, it's a little hard for him now to believe that he's wanted. He just needs some time to get used to living with someone who cares.

I didn't spend more time on the confrontation with Malfoy at the end because he honestly isn't one of my favorite characters to write, and let's face it, we see more than enough of Harry vs. Malfoy in canon. This particular argument should be easy enough to imagine without my writing it out.

The mirror... oh dear Merlin, the mirror. Where do I even start? It frustrated me to no end how this was used (or rather, not used) in canon, especially the part where Harry only discovered it _after_ the story was past the point where it could possibly serve any purpose. For that matter, why didn't Sirius give it to him back in GoF, when they really could have used a means of communication that didn't involve breaking into other people's houses to use the Floo, or sneaking off during Hogsmeade weekends, or the risk of intercepted owls? How much trouble could it possibly have been to go back to Grimmauld Place and get it, or send someone else to get it, or for that matter make a new one entirely? In this story that mirror will get _used_, damnit. I don't want to hate on Rowling or imply that I'm writing a story that's somehow "better" than the original, but there are some things she did that just make me want to bang my head repeatedly against the nearest hard object. Grrr...

**jayley, ****ems25, **and **Lovealwaysshopes:** Your comments hit it pretty much spot-on, and I'm glad to see my characterization of Sirius wasn't misinterpreted.

**Lovealwaysshopes:** I am going to have to watch that...

Till next time!


	9. YEAR4 InterHouse Relations

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the world of Harry Potter. This is just a chess game I'm playing, with Rowling's characters as my pawns.

* * *

Harry opened the package from Sirius the first night back, as soon as he was able to get a bit of privacy. Out fell a small, square mirror; it looked very old and was smudged with dirt. There was a note from Sirius on the back.

_This is a two-way mirror,_ it read._ I've got the other. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions. Don't use it where other people will notice._

He hadn't used the mirror, not yet, but it was a constant comfort to know that he'd be able to talk with his godfather if he ever needed to.

Harry was glad that he had that at least, because Rita Skeeter had been keeping busy as well. No sooner had Harry and Ron gotten out of their first Divination class of the term than a voice rang out behind them.

"Potter! Hey, Potter!"

Harry turned to see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle heading toward him. "What?"

"Your godfather's in the paper again, Potter!" he said loudly, brandishing a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. "Planning on murdering you anytime soon?"

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

Smirking, Malfoy thrust the paper at him and strode off down the hall. As he went he whispered something to Crabbe and Goyle, who both burst into gales of raucous laughter. Malfoy looked back once, throwing a triumphant smirk at Harry, and then they were gone.

Ignoring Hermione's attempts to keep Ron from running after Malfoy and hexing him, Harry opened the paper. He didn't need to look far to find the article Malfoy had been talking about. When they saw what he was doing, Ron and Hermione ceased their squabbling and leaned over his shoulder to look.

_**Murderer After All?**_

_ After the sudden death of Barty Crouch, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, a number of people are wondering if his death was all that it seems, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent.

"Crouch _died_?"

Ron gaped at him. "Where have you _been_, Harry? It was all over the papers a couple months ago…"

"I don't have a subscription!"

"But didn't Sirius tell you—"

"Sirius doesn't like to talk about that kind of stuff," said Harry, remembering that Crouch was the one who'd put Sirius in Azkaban in the first place. The three of them bent over the paper once more.

_Though his death initially appeared to have been an accident, top experts at St. Mungo's have long suspected foul play. "Prior to his death, Barty Crouch was one of the healthiest people I'd ever seen," said one Healer who preferred to remain anonymous. "A man like that doesn't just die without an explanation. It's entirely possible that someone used the Killing Curse and altered the body to make it look like he died of natural causes. It was all hushed up, though; the Ministry didn't seem to want anyone to think that it can't take care of its own."_

_One needn't look far to find the primary suspect in Crouch's death. "The only person with a known motive to murder Crouch is Sirius Black," said Lucius Malfoy, head of one of the oldest and most respectable Wizarding families in Britain. "The man has certainly shown violent tendencies before, and it would come as no surprise if he wanted revenge against the Ministry official who was responsible for his twelve-year stay in Azkaban."_

_Perhaps the Wizarding world at large is unaware of the unpleasant truth about Black, but the Ministry surely has a duty to ensure that Black's godson Harry Potter is not exposed to a murderer._

Harry groaned as he finished the article. "I should've known Lucius Malfoy had it in for Sirius. The way he was talking to him at the Quidditch World Cup…"

"Harry, this is really, really bad." Hermione looked a lot like Harry felt: as if his stomach had tied itself in knots.

"Yeah, if he's convicted of murder again I'll get sent back to the Dursleys." To spend the rest of his summers on Privet Drive, just when he thought he had a real home at last… On the heels of that thought came another that was even worse.

"Sirius could get sent back to Azkaban," said Ron, echoing Harry's thoughts. "D'you reckon he'll be able to escape _again?_"

"Even if he can, he'll have to go on the run," Harry said glumly. "No one'll believe he's innocent this time."

"I _hate_ that Skeeter woman!" Hermione burst out. "She doesn't even have any evidence, she's just out to ruin people's lives—"

They continued to thoroughly abuse Skeeter throughout the rest of the day, but it did nothing to disperse the lead weight that seemed to have settled in Harry's stomach.

* * *

That night Harry decided there was nothing else for it: he had to talk to Sirius.

After making sure that Neville, Seamus, and Dean were safely occupied in the Common Room with a game of Exploding Snap and asking Ron to warn him if anyone showed signs of coming up (their signal was to be a loud whistle from Ron's wand), Harry went up to the dormitory early, claiming tiredness. He did not go to bed, though; instead, he opened his trunk and carefully unwrapped the mirror.

"Sirius." For a second Harry thought it hadn't worked; the face looking back at him was still definitely his own. But then his reflection blurred as if he were looking in the mirror without his glasses, and when the image cleared again he saw… nothing.

"Harry? Hold on a second… damn." He could hear Sirius's voice but didn't see him. Then all at once an image of their home appeared in the little mirror; it spun around sickeningly for a second before coming to rest on Sirius's face. After a moment's confusion Harry realized what must have happened: Sirius had been keeping his mirror in his pocket.

"Hey." Sirius brushed a strand of hair out of his face. "How have you been?"

"I'm fine," said Harry, a lot more casually than he felt. "Listen, Sirius, I saw that article today and—"

"Oh. That." Sirius grimaced, and Harry could tell that he was also holding back a good deal of worry. "Seems determined to ruin my good name, doesn't she?"

"But what if people take this seriously? What if they—" But the possibilities were so awful that Harry couldn't finish.

"Harry, the articles that this Skeeter woman is printing are nothing more than slander. She has no proof for any of it, and the Ministry can't act on what she says if all they've got is a few vague accusations."

"They didn't need any proof to throw you in prison!"

"That happened during Voldemort's reign of terror, and the Ministry had started doing a lot of things that they wouldn't even consider now. Not," he added darkly, as Harry opened his mouth to protest, "that I shouldn't have gotten a trial, but Peter knew what he was doing when he framed me. That rat was a good deal cleverer than any of us gave him credit for."

_Was_. Of course Peter would have gone mad by now, just like all the others. Harry was surprised to find that he took no pleasure in the thought.

"So what about Crouch? Do you think his death really was just an accident?"

Sirius looked pensive. "I know Skeeter will say anything if she thinks it'll stir up trouble, but that part of the story does ring true. She's right in saying that Crouch was in extraordinarily good health, and healthy men don't just drop dead without any sort of warning. He definitely made enemies; I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without a trial."

"So who do you think did it?"

"That's just it, Harry. Most of the people he put in Azkaban are still there, if they haven't died by now. Even the ones who were there when I got out were a lot angrier at whoever ratted them out to buy their own freedom." Sirius frowned. "Other than that, he didn't have any political enemies that I know of."

"Aren't there Death Eaters still on the loose, though? What about them?"

"I don't think any of them would take that risk when they barely avoided Azkaban in the first place. Remember, at the World Cup they ran when the rest of us came close to unmasking them, and as far as most are concerned murdering a Ministry official is a lot more serious than dangling a few Muggles in the air for sport."

At that moment, Harry heard a loud whistle. "Someone's coming up," he said. "I have to go…"

Sirius nodded. "Take care, Harry. Use the mirror if you need me again." With that, the mirror blurred again and Harry saw his own face looking back at him.

* * *

Much to Harry's relief, Quidditch practice started that week, along with Keeper tryouts for Gryffindor. No one was more surprised when Ron when he got the position, and helping him train put Skeeter's article right out of Harry's mind.

He wanted to continue the discussion with Sirius but thought that overusing the mirror would be a bad idea, so he began writing letters instead. At first he tried to stick to Skeeter's article, but couldn't resist adding a humorous note on the end concerning Hermione and S.P.E.W. Sirius responded with his own views on elf rights, and it wasn't long before Harry was giving him detailed accounts of Professor Moody's lesson on the Unforgiveable Curses, the tryouts that led to Ron becoming Gryffindor Keeper, and Fred and George's prank on Malfoy that resulted in him spending a whole day with red and gold stripes in his hair. His latest letter described the upcoming match against Ravenclaw, the strengths and weaknesses of the various players, and Angelina's training style.

It was nice, he thought as he tied the thick roll of parchment to Hedwig's scaly leg, to have someone he could write to for no reason at all. Harry gave Hedwig a quick stroke on the back before sending her off, then watched her until she was out of sight. He was just starting down the stairs of the Owlery when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

Harry froze. He stared at the spot, straining his eyes, but couldn't see anything in the shadows of the Owlery. He was just about to pull out his wand for some extra light when he heard someone else coming up the stairs.

It was Cedric. He paused for a second on seeing Harry there, but then gave him a small smile and a friendly wave.

"Morning, Harry."

"Morning. You sending a letter, too?"

"Just writing to my parents. My father's birthday is coming up soon," said Cedric, tying the letter to his owl's leg. He frowned. "I'd like to apologize again for the things he said at the Cup. I don't know why it's so important to him that I always be the best in everything. I sometimes wonder if he's ashamed I ended up in Hufflepuff…" Cedric's face suddenly flushed with color, and he abruptly looked away and busied himself with the letter. As he finished he coughed slightly, and without looking up began to talk again.

"So… er… were you sending a letter too?"

"Yeah," Harry said, relieved at the change of subject. "I was just writing to Sirius about the Quidditch match."

Cedric tossed his owl out the window and frowned. "That reminds me… How do you figure Rita Skeeter overheard us talking at the Cup?"

"No idea." They both turned and started heading back down. "I didn't think anyone was close enough to hear us." Harry thought back to the day of the Cup: Sirius had stalked off in a bad temper right after they'd arrived, Mr. Weasley and the others had been occupied with paying for the campsite, and Mr. Diggory had been so far away that he'd had to shout to get Cedric's attention. He recalled a quite few strangers milling around, but none within hearing distance.

Cedric seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Harry. "Does she have an invisibility cloak, you think?"

"Maybe." Harry frowned. "But why would she be lurking around the arrival point under an invisibility cloak?"

"Who knows? Ah, here we are." They had arrived at the Great Hall. Harry gave a final wave to Cedric and they went their separate ways.

**

* * *

A/N:** In case you haven't guessed by the fact that we're having Quidditch this year, the Triwizard Tournament is not taking place. The reasoning behind this is that if Crouch, being one of the major organizers, were to suddenly die, the Tournament would likely get canceled. I'm actually quite glad I thought of that, since I was originally writing the Tournament with Cedric as the only Gryffindor champion, and ran into a major mental block. I'm pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that my original plan would have involved writing pretty much everything _exactly as it happened in canon_, with the only change being the point of view. From a participant to a spectator, no less. Yeah, that would have been pretty damn boring, and my mind rebelled against it.

The original draft of this chapter had Luna make an appearance at the end and provide some joke about how things went in canon, namely that if she said something to Harry about facing a dragon rather than playing Cedric in Quidditch, he would find it pretty absurd. I decided to cut her out at the last minute for several reasons. The main one is that I don't really have any role in the story for Luna at this point, but she's also one of my favorite characters and I'm not sure if I could do her justice.

I know this wasn't the most exciting chapter in the world, but I think it was necessary to establish some pretty big differences from canon, namely the lack of a Triwizard Tournament. At least Skeeter's latest article provided some suspense... right? Right?

...anyway, the next one will introduce a some non-canonical plot points that are a bit more proactive.


	10. YEAR4 Friends New and Old

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters therein. I'm only borrowing them from J.K. Rowling.

* * *

"D-Dobby?"

"It _is_ Dobby, sir, it is! Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see Harry Potter, sir, and Harry Potter has come to see him, sir!"

"Dobby, what're you doing here?"

"Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir! Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby and Winky jobs, sir!"

"Winky?" said Harry, looking around. "Who's Winky?"

Another house-elf, this one with a nose like a squashed tomato, stepped forward shyly with her hands behind her back. "H-hello, Harry Potter, sir," she stammered. Her voice was even higher than Dobby's.

"Winky's old master is dying, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby exclaimed happily. "Winky's master is telling her to work at Hogwarts, sir, and when Dobby goes to visit Winky he decides to look for work at Hogwarts too!"

At that moment Winky, who up until now had seemed fairly calm, threw herself onto the floor at Harry's feet and burst into tears. While Ron rolled his eyes and helped himself to more food from the kitchen staff, Hermione went over to the elf and knelt by her side. "Winky, don't cry, please don't…"

At that Winky cried harder than ever, but stopped beating her fists against the floor (and Harry's ankles) to wipe furiously at her face. "Miss is right, Winky's master is telling her not to cry, he is saying Winky should act like normal and be a good house-elf, oh what would Winky's master say?" She stepped back and started twisting her ears. "Oh, bad Winky, very bad Winky…"

"Winky is having trouble adjusting, Harry Potter," squeaked Dobby. "Winky forgets that Professor Dumbledore is her master now, and that she is only having to obey him."

By this point Winky had finally managed to get her tears under control, and she shot Dobby a glare from around Harry's knees. "You is ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dobby! Winky is a good house-elf, and Winky is not suffering the shame of being freed! But Dobby is proud of being a free house-elf, and Dobby is… Dobby is…" she looked all around her and lowered her voice as if afraid someone would overhear. "Dobby is wanting _paying_ for his work!"

"You're getting paid, Dobby?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, yes! Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby, miss, if Dobby wants paying!"

"That's great, Dobby!" Harry said. "Do you like it here?"

"Oh, yes, sir! Dobby has good work, and Dobby is very happy at Hogwarts!"

"Congratulations, Dobby!" said Hermione warmly. "Are you getting paid too, Winky?"

At that Winky looked horrified, and shook her head so rapidly that her ears flapped. "Oh no," she squeaked, "Winky is not sunk so low as that! Winky is working like a proper house-elf, she is!" After that, she clamped her hands on her overlarge ears and wouldn't hear another word on the matter.

"She'll come around," Hermione said as they left the kitchens with their pockets weighted down with food. "Once she sees how happy Dobby is, I bet she'll start wanting freedom too." She still sounded rather doubtful, though.

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," said Ron, stuffing a cream cake into his mouth. Harry, sensing a row coming on, dropped back to shake a pebble out of his shoe. "She _likes_ being a slave. Didn't you hear her?" He mimicked Winky's high voice. "Winky is not sunk so low as that! Winky is working like a proper house-elf, she is!"

Hermione didn't speak to him for the rest of the day.

* * *

Harry tried to do his homework that evening, but it was rather difficult with Ron and Hermione constantly sniping at each other. Giving up, he retreated into a far corner of the common room where Fred and George seemed to be working on a letter.

Seeing Harry, they hastily tucked the piece of parchment away, but not before he saw Ludo Bagman's name on the address. He wanted to ask about it, but no sooner had he opened his mouth than George started speaking.

"So, Harry, ready for Quidditch?" Their first game of the season was against Ravenclaw, and Angelina had been training them mercilessly.

"Yeah, of course I'm ready," Harry said impatiently. "Listen, what was that you were—"

"That's our Seeker," cut in Fred, thumping Harry on the back. "Though…" He grinned wickedly. "You'll have to keep your eye on the Snitch this time."

"What are you—"

"There's no use trying to hide it, Harry," Fred continued. "Cho Chang, right?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "She is pretty, I'll give you that. But remember this is Quidditch. You can't let a girl come between you and your teammates."

Harry suddenly recalled his last match against Cho. He thought of the way she had smiled at him, and his stomach did flip-flops. "I—"

"Don't worry, Harry," said George, who had finished tucking the letter away in his bag. "You keep our secrets, and we'll keep yours."

Harry beat a hasty retreat before they could see how red his face had gotten.

* * *

The next day, however, all thoughts of Cho were driven right out of his mind when he saw that Rita Skeeter had come out with yet another article. Under any other circumstances Harry would have been glad that she'd laid off of Sirius, but telling the entire wizarding world that Remus Lupin was a werewolf was hardly a good trade-off as far as he was concerned.

Harry groaned as he folded the paper. "Sirius wrote me that she tried to interview Lupin a few weeks ago, but he wouldn't talk to her. This must be her way of getting back at him."

"Does anyone know how she found out?" Hermione said. "I mean, Dumbledore kept it pretty quiet…"

"No idea." Harry slumped forward onto the table. "I'll write Sirius tonight and ask if he knows anything."

When Sirius's reply came a few days later, it only increased Harry's hatred for Skeeter. Apparently Lupin had barely managed to scrape by before, and now that his secret was out it was next to impossible for him to find work. What's more, neither Lupin nor Sirius had a clue how she'd found out. According to Sirius it wasn't a matter they discussed in public, but he also included a reminder that Skeeter was an expert on digging up dirt.

Harry seethed over the article for the rest of the day. He was rereading the letter again in the common room that night, trying to figure out how Skeeter could possibly have found out, when Ron broke into his thoughts.

"Would you like to play Exploding Snap, Harry?"

"No. Not in the mood."

"How about a game of chess, then?" Ron was obviously trying to distract him.

"_No_, Ron."

Hermione, who was reading nearby, slammed her book shut. "Harry, you can't just keep brooding about this all day."

"I want to know how she's doing it!" Harry snapped. "If she's been getting personal information and listening in on private conversations—"

Suddenly his scar seared with pain. He clapped a hand to his forehead, but the pain only continued to build, until he thought his head would burst open with it. He felt as if he were about to be sick; his vision blurred, and he saw, just for an instant, a glimpse of something blue in a sea of darkness—

"Harry! _Harry!_" Someone was shaking him; he opened his streaming eyes and saw Ron and Hermione's faces hovering over him.

"What happened, mate?" Ron was so white that his freckles stood out against his skin.

Harry sat up slowly, putting a hand to his head as a fresh wave of pain and nausea rolled over him. "Scar's hurting. I have to see Dumbledore…"

"Let's go, then." Hermione stood, and she and Ron helped Harry to his feet with a look that told him he would have a lot of explaining to do as soon as they got back. As they left, his scar still burning, he noticed that Ginny and Neville were watching him, eyes wide.

Almost as soon as they climbed out of the portrait hole, however, they ran into Professor McGonagall. "Potter, Weasley, Granger!" she said, her mouth going into a thin line. "It's ten minutes to curfew. What do you think you are doing?" Her eyes moved to Harry, who was still holding a hand to his head. "Do you need the hospital wing, Potter?"

She had just provided him with an excellent excuse, but Harry shook his head. "I— I need to see Dumbledore," he gritted out. "Please… it's urgent."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow as if to imply that nothing a group of fourteen-year-olds had to say could possibly warrant the attention of the headmaster, but took another look at their determined faces and appeared to change her mind.

"Very well, then. Potter, I will escort you to the headmaster's office. Granger, Weasley, return to Gryffindor Tower."

"But, Professor—"

"We have to—"

"I will be the judge of that," she said sternly. "Now do as I say or it will be points from Gryffindor. Yes, Weasley, from my own House!"

"Go on," Harry said when Ron continued to look mutinous. "I'll tell you about it later…"

He followed McGonagall down the corridor toward Dumbledore's office, but the pain in his scar continued to flare. Harry pressed a hand to his forehead and scrunched his eyes shut, though it did nothing to block out the pain.

McGonagall noticed. "Maybe you should visit the hospital wing after all, Potter," she said, looking at him with something remarkably like concern. "If you have a headache that bad…"

"It's not a headache," he replied, perhaps a little shortly. "It's…" But he didn't know how to explain what it was. "I think only Dumbledore can help me with it," he finished lamely. She raised her eyebrows but didn't comment further.

"Ah, good evening," said Dumbledore pleasantly as they entered his office. "Sherbet lemon?"

Professor McGonagall looked at him, frowning slightly. "Professor Dumbledore, Potter claimed that he needed to see you. According to him, it is a matter of some urgency."

"I see." His penetrating light-blue eyes swept over both of them, and not for the first time Harry had the feeling that he was being x-rayed. "Minerva, would you be so kind as to wait outside? You may escort Harry back to his dormitory when I am finished speaking with him."

"Certainly, headmaster." If she thought anything of the abrupt dismissal she gave no sign of it; she strode out of the office without a backward glance.

"So, Harry," said Dumbledore. "What is it that you wanted to tell me?"

"Well," said Harry, "I was sitting in the common room just now, and my scar started hurting. I thought I was going to be sick for a few minutes, it hurt so badly."

"I see," said Dumbledore quietly. "Sirius wrote me the last time, of course… was this occasion also accompanied by a dream?"

"Well…" Harry paused for a moment to sort through his own very confused thoughts. "It wasn't a dream, exactly. I thought I saw a glimpse of something, but it was gone before I could tell what it was. I'm sorry," he added as Dumbledore looked at him, "that's all I can remember."

"I see," said Dumbledore again. He appeared to be lost in thought.

"Professor? D'you—d'you know why my scar's hurting me?"

"I have a theory, no more than that… It is my belief that your scar hurts both when Lord Voldemort is near you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred."

"But… why?"

Because both you and he are connected by the curse that failed. That is no ordinary scar." For a moment it looked as if Dumbledore wanted to say something more, but then he appeared to change his mind.

"So you think… that dream I had before… did it really happen?"

"It is possible. I would say—probable." Dumbledore sighed. "You had best be getting back to your dormitory, Harry. I know Sirius will want to hear what you have just told me." He paused. "And Harry," he turned around halfway to the door, "I want you to tell me if this happens again." Harry nodded and left the office.

McGonagall was waiting for him outside. "Come along then, Potter," she said, and led him back to Gryffindor Tower.

The moment he entered the portrait hole Ron and Hermione looked at him expectantly, but he mouthed "not now" with a significant look at the other Gryffindors, who all appeared to be watching him. Harry faked a yawn. "I've still got a bit of a headache," he said loudly. "Think I'll go up to bed now." He saw that Ginny and Neville were still looking at him oddly as he made his way up the stairs but neither said anything to contradict his explanation, for which Harry was grateful.

As soon as he got upstairs he opened his trunk and took out the small square mirror. "Sirius," he said, and a second later his godfather's face appeared in the mirror.

"Harry?" He took a look at Harry's face and frowned. "What's wrong?"

Harry wasted no time. "My scar hurt again. It was really bad this time and—"

"Did you go to Dumbledore?"

"Yes." He paused. "He told me that he thinks it's been happening whenever Voldemort is angry."

"I see. Did you have another dream this time?"

"Well, not quite…" Harry told him about the momentary vision.

Sirius shook his head when he was finished. "I can't make anything of it either. But Harry, I want you to be careful. I've heard a lot of strange rumors lately, and I think that Dumbledore is reading the signs as well. Don't trust anyone, and if anything unusual happens you need to tell me or Dumbledore right away."

Harry nodded. "I'll be careful." Then, more to change the subject than anything else, he asked, "How's Lupin holding up?"

Sirius sighed. "He hasn't been able to find work since that article came out. I'm afraid he just might starve to death if this keeps up."

"Can't we—I mean, isn't there anything we can do to help?"

"I'm not sure. James… your father… supported Remus after we graduated, but I don't know if he'd accept help now. He's perfectly capable of working, but…" Sirius scowled. "It's a damn shame when a man isn't even allowed to earn his own living."

Harry didn't know what to say. Lupin had been an excellent teacher, and the thought of him not being able to find a job, because of something he couldn't help…

Sirius shook his head. "I'll do what I can," he said, as if reading Harry's thoughts. "But for right now I want you to worry about yourself. Remember what I said about telling Dumbledore if you notice anything strange."

"Sure," said Harry, a bit irked that Sirius didn't seem to think he could look out for himself. "It's not as though I go looking for trouble, you know. Trouble usually finds me."

"Which is why I want you to be careful. But enough about that." Sirius grinned. "Now, about this Quidditch match coming up…"

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter is a bit later than normal, but when I did my usual pre-posting read-through I found a _lot_ of things that needed revision, and it took me awhile for me to figure out how best to do that. And this still counts as a weekend update, so I don't feel too bad about it.

Not a lot of comments on this chapter; I think it mostly speaks for itself.


	11. YEAR4 Constant Vigilance

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter etc. etc. etc. You know the drill.

* * *

Gryffindor won the match. It was a close thing, though; Harry and Cho saw the Snitch at the same instant, and it was only thanks to Harry's superior broomstick that he managed to get to it first. At the devastated look on Cho's face Harry suddenly got the insane urge to drop the Snitch and offer to forfeit the match, but before he could open his mouth the Gryffindor team was descending on him, yelling congratulations and slapping him on the back, and Cho was flying over to join her disappointed teammates.

Harry changed slowly, ignoring the twins' excited yells and nodding dumbly when Angelina praised his excellent flying. None of his teammates seemed to notice the mood he was in; they were too busy celebrating.

When Harry left the changing rooms he saw that Cho was just coming out as well, and finally managed to throw off his excited teammates by pretending to stop and tie his shoe. "Party in the common room!" Fred yelled over his shoulder as they walked away. Harry nodded to show that he'd understood, and as soon as the others were out of earshot he stood and started walking over to Cho, though he had no idea what he'd say.

He was only halfway there, however, when he saw Cedric coming down from the stands. As Harry watched he walked over to Cho and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, whispering something into her ear. Her face relaxed into a pretty smile as Cedric continued to talk to her, and Harry felt something in his gut begin to boil. They walked from the pitch arm in arm, and Harry, not wanting to see more, turned on his heel and strode back to the castle, thinking that if only he'd had his wand in his hand he might have hexed Cedric then and there.

He entered the Gryffindor common room to find a raucous party already in full swing, but for once Harry didn't feel like celebrating their Quidditch victory. Instead he grabbed a butterbeer and went to join Ron, who was sitting morosely in a corner. Neither of them spoke; Harry lifted the butterbeer to his mouth and took one long swallow. Ron simply stared into his cup as if he would have liked to drown himself in it.

"What is _wrong_ with the two of you?" Fred had come up behind them and was leaning over the back of Ron's chair. "We won the bloody match, now you should be celebrating!"

"We only won because Harry got the Snitch before I could muck it up too badly. I'm rubbish," Ron moaned, burying his face in his hands. "What was I thinking, trying to play Quidditch? I'm going to resign from the team…"

"You'll do no such thing!" Angelina had heard; she was now standing behind them as well, wearing a scowl that would do Oliver Wood proud. "I signed you on as Keeper, didn't I? You could be a ruddy great player with a bit of training up, if you'd stop feeling sorry for yourself for five contiguous seconds," she snarled. "I want to see you at the next Quidditch practice and that's final." With that she turned her back on them and stalked away.

Harry and Ron looked at each other. "Bugger if I know what she's so upset about," Ron said. "You'd think she'd be glad to be rid of me…"

"You're _not_ rubbish," Harry said firmly. "You just need more practice, that's all—"

"Oh yeah? Then why are you looking so miserable? You thought I was horrible too, didn't you?"

"No, I—" Harry groaned. He did _not_ want to tell Ron about what was really upsetting him. "I'm still thinking of that article, that's all," he lied. "Malfoy kept talking about it before the game."

Skeeter's latest had been an account of Sirius's family history that had gone into far more detail than Harry wanted to know. In addition to an exhaustive description of the Black family's association with the Dark Arts, there had been several accounts of Sirius's childhood that Harry was sure his godfather would _never_ have been willing to discuss with a reporter, especially Rita Skeeter.

"I never wanted you to find out that way," Sirius had moaned with his face in his hands.

"I didn't want to either," Harry had replied quietly. It seemed as if every new article Skeeter came out with drove them a little further apart.

After that, it seemed, there hadn't been anything more to say. They had both known the contents of the rest of the article: some statistic saying that those who had been abused as children were much more likely to become abusers themselves. Malfoy had been incessantly quoting it all week.

"That little git." To Harry's relief, Ron's miserable brooding was driven straight out of his head by his hatred of Malfoy. "I'd like to get ahold of him and—" he made a violent gesture.

As Ron continued to fantasize about things to do to Malfoy, Harry felt a momentary twinge of guilt for the lie. Though it was true he was still angry about the article, it had nothing to do with Harry's feeling of misery after the game.

"…and then I'm going to lure Malfoy off to the Shrieking Shack when no one else is around, and when I get him alone I'm going to get ahold of his head and…"

Harry nodded and laughed automatically, but somehow he couldn't stop thinking about Cho Chang.

* * *

The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year came hard on the heels of the first Quidditch match, and the Gryffindor team wasted no excuse to continue celebrating their victory. Harry openly joined them for the first time in his Hogwarts career, and remembered with gratitude how Sirius had signed his permission form.

He, Ron, and Hermione had been to Zonko's and Honeydukes and were just finishing up a drink of warm butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks when Harry looked up and saw Cedric Diggory making his way toward them through the crowd.

"Harry," he said, looking left and right as he reached the table. "Can I have a word?"

Harry did not want to see Cedric, did not want to talk to him, did not want to think about the fact that Cho fancied him. But then he remembered their conversation in the Owlery, and wondered whether Cedric had found out something about Skeeter. With that thought in mind he excused himself and followed Cedric outside.

They walked side by side down the main street of Hogsmeade. It was a bitingly chilly day, and there was almost no one else outside. Now that he had Harry alone, however, Cedric seemed oddly reluctant to talk. He kept glancing from side to side as though afraid there was someone who would overhear, and several times he opened his mouth and abruptly snapped it shut again.

Harry, who was admittedly feeling less than charitable toward Cedric at the moment, found himself quickly losing patience at having been dragged out of the warm pub only to watch Cedric make up his mind whether or not he wanted to start talking. Finally, Harry stepped in front of him at the mouth of a deserted alley and forced them to come to a halt.

"What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked. "Did you find out anything about Skeeter?"

"I have an idea," said Cedric, looking relieved as they stepped into the alley to get out of the wind. He leaned in close to Harry, as though making sure that no one would overhear even though Harry was sure that they were quite alone now. "If she's not using an invisibility cloak, it's possible that she's—"

"Potter! I want a word with you!"

They both started, and Cedric leapt away from Harry as though he had been burned. Harry, turning toward the sound of the voice, saw Professor Moody standing in the mouth of the alley.

"What about, sir?" Harry asked, turning away from Cedric and inwardly cursing Moody's timing. Why did so many people suddenly want to talk to him on this particular day?

"Just need to talk to you about your Defense classes, you're not in trouble. You mind, Diggory?"

"I'm sorry, Cedric, I'll—"

"No, that's okay," Cedric said, backing away. "I'll talk to you later, Harry." With that he turned away and continued down the alley at a fast, jerky walk.

Moody stumped toward him, his magical eye whizzing around so fast watching it made Harry feel slightly ill. "You've been doing well in your Defense classes, Potter," he said, before Harry could open his mouth to ask. He grabbed Harry's elbow and ushered him back out onto the street. "But you need to start using your brains, boy."

"I don't—"

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Harry jumped, as did everyone else who was out on the street. "Think about what you're doing, running down dark alleys with someone you don't know you can trust!"

"Cedric?" said Harry incredulously. "We were just talking about— about the Quidditch World Cup."

"Hmph. And what if someone had been waiting in there to jump the both of you, eh? CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Moody left him off at the Three Broomsticks, giving him one last glare with his normal eye. Harry stomped inside, fuming, to rejoin Ron and Hermione. It wasn't like he tried to be reckless or went looking for trouble; trouble usually found him. But if the alternative was being _that_ paranoid, Harry thought that he would take the trouble.

_First Sirius, now Moody_, he thought, sitting down and glaring into his butterbeer. _You'd think I was a naughty child with no sense of self-preservation._

* * *

Harry meant to continue their interrupted conversation, but every time he saw Cedric during the week that followed he was arm-in-arm with Cho Chang, who looked radiantly happy. Whenever Harry saw them together he felt a surge of hot anger begin to boil up from his gut, and forced himself to turn away before he did anything stupid.

Neither Ron nor Hermione seemed to notice anything amiss. Ron was still bemoaning his poor Keeping performance, and Hermione was inclined to assume that Harry's dismal mood was due primarily to his anger with Skeeter, an assumption which Harry made no effort to correct. On top of everything else his scar had started to prickle again, and though he'd told both Dumbledore and Sirius neither of them had been able to offer any more helpful advice than they had the last time.

To Harry's credit, he did make one last-ditch effort to find out Cedric's theory about Skeeter, figuring he owed at least that much to Sirius and Lupin. The next weekend after their aborted conversation, he watched the Hufflepuff table all through breakfast. The minute that Cedric got up, Harry excused himself and followed.

Cedric's stride was quite a bit longer than Harry's, and he was already out of sight by the time Harry reached the hallway he'd turned into after leaving the Great Hall. Harry, fearing that he'd lost him after all, had a fleeting moment of panic, but then saw the hem of Cedric's robes trailing out of a concealed niche in the hallway ahead of him.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and stepped forward, opening his mouth to say hello, when a girlish giggle brought him to a halt. Tiptoeing now, Harry came closer and saw that Cedric wasn't alone after all; Cho was with him, her back against the wall as the two of them snogged.

Harry, fuming, turned away and didn't bother trying to talk to Cedric anymore after that. _He was only guessing_, Harry thought savagely as he stabbed at his baked potato the next day. _He didn't really know anything._

* * *

**A/N:** I'm losing my taste for long author notes, so I'll keep this pretty concise. Yes, Harry doesn't have very good judgment where crushes are involved. And that level of paranoia is just like Moody, isn't it?

Given the way things are now I think it would be better to just make Sunday morning/early afternoon my regular update time, rather than Saturday night. Saturday there's just too much competition for my attention.


	12. YEAR4 Christmas at Alder Cottage

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Harry Potter, I'd have a lot more money and a lot less financial worries. Needless to say, I don't.

* * *

Harry thought that this would easily be the best Christmas he had ever had.

First of all there was Quidditch. Gryffindor had beat Slytherin with a score of 260-30, and Ron's Keeper skills were coming on nicely. To top it all off, Gryffindor's rendition of _Weasley is Our King_ had wiped the smirk off Malfoy's face for the better part of a month.

Better even than Quidditch, however, was the thought that, for the first time in his life, Harry would be going back to a real home. He smiled as he threw things into his trunk, savoring the feeling of packing up to go home just like everyone else.

He was just closing the lid on his Broomstick Servicing Kit when there was a loud bang and Dobby appeared on his bed.

"Harry Potter, sir!" He bowed so low that the end of his long nose touched Harry's sheets.

"Er, hey Dobby." He looked around and saw that Neville, Dean, and Seamus were all staring. "Um, what are you doing here?"

"Dobby has come to give Harry Potter his present, sir!" The elf beamed. "Dobby has heard that Harry Potter is leaving for Christmas, sir, and Dobby wanted to give Harry Potter his present first!" He handed Harry a small package, and Harry unwrapped Dobby's gift of socks.

"They're… they're really… well, thanks, Dobby."

The elf practically beamed with happiness.

* * *

Early the next morning they all boarded the horseless carriages that took them to the Hogwarts Express. Once there, they sought out their usual compartment at the back of the train, accompanied by Ginny and Neville. Harry was talking animatedly with Ron and Hermione.

"You've got to visit me sometime after Christmas," he said. "Sirius said you're both welcome if you want to come, and I don't want to wait to get back to Hogwarts to see you again…"

"I dunno, Harry," said Ron, though he looked pleased with the idea. "Only mum was saying she'd like you to come visit us again…"

"Come on, Ron, I've visited you loads of times. You've only been to my house once."

"I'll try, then," said Ron. "But you have to get me there some way other than the motorbike, mum won't let me near it…"

"That's right, Harry," chipped in Hermione, "how _are_ we going to get there? I'll ask my parents, of course," as Harry opened his mouth, "but they do like me to be home for the holidays and I don't know whether they'll let me stay over if I'm the only girl."

"I'll talk to Sirius, see if we can work something out," said Harry, whose mood was beginning to deflate. Of course they had made the house inaccessible on purpose, but at times like this Harry wished more than ever that he could just be normal, that he had never heard of Voldemort and that this damn scar on his forehead really was just the relic of a car accident.

They'd been traveling a few hours when the door to their compartment opened and Malfoy came in. Harry couldn't say he hadn't expected this, but it did nothing to improve his mood.

"Going home for the holidays, are you?" he sneered. "Finally found someone who wanted you, Potter, I never would have guessed."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"But then again," continued Malfoy, giving no indication that he'd heard, "you're both afraid of the scary dementors. Tell me, Potter, does he faint when one gets near him too?"

Harry had his wand in his hand and had started to rise out of his seat when Hermione grabbed his wrist. "Harry, no," she whispered, sounding terrified. "Don't let him get to you, that's what he wants…"

"Yeah, Potter, you'd better not show any… _violent_ tendencies. You wouldn't want anyone to think you've picked up any… _bad habits_." He leaned casually against the door, stroking his chin thoughtfully as Harry struggled to control himself. "But then again, there are always other solutions. They have a special ward in St. Mungo's for people whose brains have been addled by magic—"

There was a scuffling sound behind him, and Harry turned to see Ron and Ginny struggling to hold back Neville, who looked ready to pounce on Malfoy and strangle him with his bare hands. He looked furious. "Don't you—if you ever—I'll—I'll—"

"You'll stutter at me, Longbottom?" His eyes glittered maliciously. "Go on then, try it, I'll even give you the first—"

But the words died on his lips, for every occupant of the compartment now had their wands out and were pointing them directly at him. "You were saying, Malfoy?" Harry asked coldly.

Malfoy sneered, but he wasn't stupid enough to take all five of them on by himself. With one last contemptuous glare he turned and strode back down the aisle. Slowly, Ron and Ginny released Neville, who was now struggling to breathe.

"Neville, what-"

Neville shook his head and yanked his robes straight. Then, without speaking, he went to the far corner of the compartment and sank into one of the chairs. He looked utterly miserable.

The group of them exchanged baffled looks. Hermione opened his mouth as if she wanted to say something, but after floundering for a moment she gave up with a sigh, staring sadly in Neville's direction.

"Hmph." To Harry's surprise it was Ginny who pushed out of her seat and shoved past him, where she went to sit by Neville instead. She leaned over and began talking to him quietly; Neville listened for a moment before giving a small, watery chuckle. After a few more minutes they were both smiling, Ginny giggling behind her hand at something Neville had said.

Ron watched them for a moment with a baffled expression, but then shook his head and pulled out a deck of Exploding Snap cards. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, who nodded enthusiastically. Hermione rummaged in her bag, eventually pulling out a textbook which she opened in the middle and started to read. By the time they reached King's Cross, the incident with Malfoy was all but forgotten.

Harry's stomach did a pleasant swoop when he disembarked and saw Sirius standing there waiting for him, accompanied, to Harry's surprise, by Lupin. He started lugging his trunk over only to have Sirius point his wand and levitate it.

"Ready for the holidays?" he asked, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders. He seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood.

"Yep," Harry grinned back. "Hey, Professor Lupin."

"Harry, I'm not your teacher anymore," said Lupin with a faint smile. "You can call me Remus if you want to."

"Oh, um… sure, Prof— er, Remus."

"I invited Remus to spend Christmas with us," put in Sirius.

"That's great!"

At that moment Mrs. Weasley came over to them with Ron and Ginny in tow.

"Harry, dear, how would you like to visit us over Christmas?" She looked rather coldly at Sirius as she said it.

"That's nice of you, Molly," Sirius replied before Harry could open his mouth, "but you see, Harry and I have never spent a Christmas together, and Harry was actually hoping Ron could come and visit him…"

"I'm afraid," said Mrs. Weasley, and now her voice was positively frosty, "that I cannot allow that. I cannot leave one of my children with—"

"With?" Though Sirius was outwardly calm, Harry could hear an undertone in his voice that said he was readying himself for a fight. Harry exchanged a horrified look with Ron. Why was Mrs. Weasley so hostile, when she had always been so kind before…? And suddenly, Harry realized what the problem was.

"Mrs. Weasley?" he said. She looked at him in surprise. "You don't believe the rubbish that Skeeter woman's been writing, do you? Because Sirius hasn't been mistreating me. I really did trip over a tree root at the World Cup."

"It's true, mum," Ron put in. "It was while everyone was out trying to rescue those Muggles. I was with him; I saw."

"Well, I… Of course I know that Rita Skeeter lives to stir up trouble…" She still looked doubtful, though.

"So can I go visit Harry, then?"

"We'll discuss it," she said shortly. "I do hope to see you soon, though, Harry dear." With that, she was heading back to the rest of her family. Ron shot Harry an apologetic look over his shoulder as he followed along in her wake. Sirius was still scowling.

"Really enjoys ruining people's lives, that Skeeter woman," Lupin commented. Harry noticed that his hair had more gray in it than ever, and his robes had reached a new level of shabbiness. "Do you really think Molly is going to let this go?"

At this Sirius scowled even more and strode off toward the barrier without answering, Harry's trunk in tow. Harry and Lupin followed, Harry still gaping at Lupin's last comment.

"You think Mrs. Weasley might still _believe_ that article? After I told her everything was all right?"

Lupin pinched the bridge of his nose. "Harry, it's quite common for abused children to deny that anything is wrong. If you want to know the truth, I think the fact that Ron witnessed your fall did more to help your case than anything you might have said."

"So she thinks I'm _lying_?" said Harry incredulously.

"I doubt she thinks that you're lying to her. More likely she believes that you're… in denial." Harry's regard for Mrs. Weasley rather suddenly plummeted.

"Harry, you mustn't blame her for this," said Lupin, seeing the look on his face. "Molly cares for you, and she's only acting the way she is because she has your best interests at heart."

"If she thinks it's in my best interests to send me back to the Dursleys—" Harry began hotly, but Sirius interrupted.

"We're here," he said shortly, tossing Harry's trunk into the sidecar. Far from being in a good mood anymore, he looked as if he had worked himself into quite a temper.

"I'll meet you there," said Lupin with a warning look at Sirius. "I'm Apparating," he explained at Harry's questioning look. "There's a small wood a short distance from your house… Be sure you've got your cloak on, Harry, it's going to be a cold ride."

* * *

Thankfully, the incident with Mrs. Weasley was all but forgotten over the next few days. Whatever misgivings she might have had Ron must have managed to work her over, for he wrote Harry a few days later saying that he could come over right after Christmas, provided they could come up with a means of transportation that didn't involve the motorbike.

Hermione's parents proved a bit more difficult to persuade, most likely because she would be the only girl in a houseful of men. But eventually she, too, told Harry she could come, though she also sent a list of requirements that her father had apparently demanded be met if she was to be allowed to spend so much as a single night at Harry's place.

"She has to have a room to herself that locks from the inside?" said Harry, reading over Hermione's letter on Christmas Eve. "Why?"

Lupin chuckled from his place near the fire. "I'd explain it to you, but I think that's his job." He waved a hand toward Sirius, who shot him a dark look that seemed quite out of place with the subject matter.

"Anyway," Harry continued, sensing a change of subject was in order, "how are we going to get them here? If they can't Floo or use the motorbike…"

"Well," said Sirius, "as neither of them can Apparate yet…"

"…and setting up an unauthorized Portkey would be more than our lives are worth…"

"…that leaves the Knight Bus, but that's a long way to ride by themselves."

"I think our best course of action is to meet them at their houses and have the Knight Bus drop us off within walking distance," Lupin continued. "We can't get off too close to the house, though, since Dumbledore wants its location to remain a secret."

"Wait a minute," said Harry, frowning. "Isn't that why we put the property under _Fidelus_ in the first place?"

"It is," Lupin explained, "but it would be a bad idea for the Death Eaters to find out even the general location of your house. Even if they can't get onto the property itself, they could just as easily wait out on the road. If you were living in the city it would be different, but as things stand…"

"I'll meet them at their places and bring them here," said Sirius. "Remus can stay with you, Harry."

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence. For awhile Harry just stared into the fire, enjoying the feeling of being in a cozy house on Christmas Eve while a steady fall of thick snow drifted down outside of the window. Yes, his life might be more difficult than normal, but he had his friends, and for the first time in his life he had a home. Not mere house space, but a real _home_, where he was welcome and wanted.

Harry smiled to himself as he went to sleep that night, the thought of home still in his head.

* * *

He was awakened Christmas morning by a large black dog landing squarely on top of his bed.

"Ouch—_Sirius!_"

"I tried to stop him," said Lupin from the doorway, though his lips were twitching uncontrollably as if he were trying very hard to hold back a smile. "But he simply _insists_ that it's time to open presents."

"All right, all right!" Harry laughed, pushing the dog off of him. It chased its tail in a circle around the room before bounding off down the hallway.

Harry yawned and rolled out of bed, grabbing the first pair of socks that he could find. "He's sure excited."

"It _is_ his first real Christmas since you were born." The smile faded from Lupin's eyes. "They're terrible creatures, dementors," he said softly. "When one is exposed to them for as long as he was… one still suffers the effects, you know, even years afterward."

Harry, having no idea how to reply to this, finished pulling on his socks in silence. Lupin followed as he got up to leave the room, and Harry was glad that he didn't pursue the topic.

They opened presents in the sitting room. Harry and Lupin had a good laugh at Sirius, who for at least ten minutes tried valiantly to open a particularly large box with his teeth before finally giving up and turning back into a man.

"Really, Sirius, that could have been something breakable," Lupin admonished as he unwrapped Harry's present with quite a bit more finesse.

"Nah, I could smell that it was— Harry, what are you _wearing_ on your feet?"

"What are you… oh." Looking down, Harry belatedly realized that the socks he had pulled on without looking were in fact the mismatched pair that Dobby had given him on the day he left Hogwarts. "Dobby the house-elf knitted them for me," he said, grinning sheepishly. At their questioning looks he told them of Dobby's numerous attempts to save his life, and how he had eventually managed to set Dobby free at the end of his second year. There was no shortage of commentary throughout the course of the story.

"Flying the car to Hogwarts, a trick worthy of the Marauders in their heyday!" Sirius laughed. "I wanted to come to Hogwarts on the motorbike sixth year," he confessed in a stage whisper, "but Moony there wouldn't—"

"I should think not," Lupin interrupted, though there was a faint smile playing about his lips. "Didn't you hear the part where they crashed into the Whomping Willow and nearly got expelled?"

"All part of the fun!"

"…and when that didn't work he bewitched a Bludger to attack only me…"

"So let me get this straight. He tried to save your life. With a Bludger."

"Well, I only ended up with a broken arm, but then Lockhart—he was the Defense teacher that year—tried to fix it and ended up removing all my bones…"

By the time he had finished telling of the fiasco that was Dobby's attempt to save his life, Sirius was sitting on the floor and shaking with laughter. "I tell you, Harry," he said when he could speak again, "if he'd kept on trying to save your life he just might have killed you."

"That's what Ron said." Harry pushed away the last of the torn wrapping paper and stood. "So… breakfast?"

"Yeah, I'll get started on that. What's up with you, Remus?" For Lupin was still sitting on the floor, frowning.

"I was just thinking…" He looked at Harry. "What you said about being locked in your room for days on end. Have your aunt and uncle always treated you that way?"

"Well…" Harry faltered. He had not expected this topic to come up again. "Uncle Vernon locked me in my cupboard for weeks before, but I always managed to sneak food then…"

"Your cupboard? They locked you in a _cupboard?_"

"That was his bedroom, Remus," Sirius said darkly as he went about fixing breakfast. "Dumbledore knew about it, too. He knew about every rotten thing that happened to Harry in that house and—"

"_Sirius_." Lupin silenced him with a warning look before turning back to Harry. "They nearly starved you before second year, as well."

"I got out okay." Harry shrugged. "It's not that big of a deal." He stood and began picking up the wrapping paper.

Lupin opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, but changed his mind at the last minute. Instead he shot a pointed look at Sirius, who returned his gaze levelly. Baffled, Harry finished cleaning up and went to help Sirius in the kitchen.

* * *

**A/N:** Large, hyperactive dog-on-bed is a _very_ effective way of waking up. Yes, I do know this from experience.

I anticipate a negative reaction to Molly's behavior, but there is precedent in GoF (_Harry Potter's Secret Heartache_, anyone?) and in OotP. She's not letting this particular article go as easily as she did the one about Hermione because, knowing Molly, she's going to take an allegation of child abuse a _lot_ more seriously than the love-lives of fourteen-year-olds, no matter who it's from.

**restoringthehistory:** I agree completely; Harry Potter just wouldn't be Harry Potter without Voldemort coming back at some point. Exactly how long I'll continue this story is still in the works, but it will be through 7th year at least.

**Jen11:** Thanks! The twins are among my favorite characters, though I haven't gotten to write them nearly as much as I would have liked. There aren't many who could go up against Mama Weasley and survive, but she and Sirius were bound to clash at some point - as witnessed in this chapter.


	13. YEAR4 Parental Concerns

**Disclaimer:** I don't own, I'm not making money, etc. You get the idea.

* * *

"Sirius."

"What?"

"Have you thought about what Harry told you concerning how he's treated at his aunt and uncle's?"

Sirius looked over to where Remus lay wrapped in blankets on the couch, recovering from the last full moon. This had been a hard transformation; there were bite marks on his hands and forearms, and scratches across his neck.

"Of course I've thought about it," Sirius grunted. A snowball hit the window with a resounding _thump!_ followed by the delighted shouts of the three teenagers playing outside. He allowed himself a brief smile before turning back to Remus. "Why do you think I insisted on taking him in?"

"I was asking whether you'd thought about how his time with the Dursleys would affect him in the long run." Remus looked out the window, to where Harry and Hermione had ganged up on Ron and were attempting to bury him in a snowdrift. "I admit that he's turned out remarkably well, given the circumstances, but Sirius…"

"What is your point, Remus?" said Sirius, with just the slightest hint of a growl.

"My point," said Remus slowly, as though he were weighing each and every word, "is that no one could have gone though the things that he did and come out unscathed. Sirius, he talked about being locked in a cupboard for weeks as though it were entirely normal." Remus looked back at him then, his brow furrowed in a frown. "I think that someday he's going to have to deal with the things that he went through, and he'll need you to help him."

"What do you think I've been trying to—"

"I wasn't talking about just taking him in." Remus looked at him then, his dark eyes piercing. "You need to be there for him, Sirius."

"Are you suggesting that I haven't been?"

Remus glared. "How much time have you been spending as a dog lately?"

"That," said Sirius coldly, "is none of your business."

"When my only friend starts cutting himself off from the rest of the world, I'm inclined to make it my business." He sat up straighter, wincing at the movement. "Harry's noticed it too."

"Whether he has or not, it's not going to affect him any—"

"For Merlin's sake, Sirius, open your eyes!" Remus exploded, his brows knitted together in anguish. "It _is_ affecting him to see how you deal with your problems, and it'll affect him even worse if you let that stop you from helping him! You should get advice from someone who knows how to deal with children, and you need to talk to him—a real talk, Sirius, not an inane chat about Quidditch or pranks."

"The last I checked," said Sirius coldly, "I was his godfather, not you."

The moment he said it the room seemed to freeze over. Remus gave Sirius an icy glare, and it seemed as if shutters had snapped shut behind his eyes. "Maybe I would be, if it weren't illegal for werewolves to assume guardianship of children." His voice was soft, but Sirius moved back a step at his words.

"Remus, I…"

"No. Forget it." Remus wrapped his blankets tighter around himself and turned into the couch, so that his back was to the room.

"Remus…" Sirius moved forward a step, hand out, but at that moment the door burst open and Harry, Ron, and Hermione spilled into the house, laughing, their faces flushed and melting snow dripping from their hair.

"…dirty trick, ganging up on me two-on-one!"

"Well you asked for it," Harry laughed, "trying to shove snow down my shirt like that!" He began taking off his gloves and scarf.

Hermione, however, moved forward into the house, frowning. "Sirius?" she asked. "Is Prof— is Remus okay?"

Harry and Ron had picked up on the tension as well now; they were no longer laughing, but staring at the place where Remus lay with his back to them, buried under a nest of blankets. Harry's eyebrows were creased in a frown, and Ron's mouth hung open.

"Just let him be," said Sirius quietly, ushering Hermione back toward the kitchen. He forced a smile onto his face. "Now, who'd like some butterbeer?"

* * *

Though they carefully avoided discussing their argument over the next few days, all was not well between them. Whenever they spoke Remus addressed Sirius with a cold formality that would have seemed merely quiet and polite to anyone who didn't know him as well as Sirius did. As it was he thought the ongoing tension wasn't noticeable to anyone else in the house, with the possible exception of Hermione, whom Sirius noticed frowning thoughtfully in his direction from time to time.

He wanted to talk to Remus, to make things up with him, but whenever they got a moment alone and Sirius opened his mouth no words would come out.

_You've really put your foot in it this time, Padfoot_, said a voice in the back of his head. It sounded like James—a terribly disappointed James, at that. Remus really would have been a better guardian for Harry, thought Sirius, slumping forward onto the table. He was the responsible one, the one who thought before he opened his mouth. And Sirius—Sirius was the reckless idiot who'd gotten his best friend killed and landed himself in Azkaban, leaving Harry stranded with his horrible Muggle relatives for twelve years.

All in all, it was a relief when Christmas break ended and an end-of-holidays packing frenzy descended over Alder Cottage. Ron and Hermione's possessions seemed to have become scattered rather widely considering the short time they'd been there, and they had a job getting everything back in order. The Summoning Charm in particular came in handy on multiple occasions.

They finally finished packing, though, and the next morning Sirius and Remus escorted them to an empty field a ways down the road, where Remus hailed the Knight Bus and Sirius paid for it to take them all to King's Cross Station. There they stayed to see Harry onto the train, while Ron wandered off to see his parents and Hermione politely thanked Sirius for having them over. In no time at all, it seemed, there was a loud whistle from the scarlet steam engine and the Hogwarts Express began to move. Harry leaned out the window and waved until the train was out of sight.

Sirius and Remus stood there in silence while all of the other parents drifted away from the platform. It had begun to snow again, and a white dusting settled over their heads and shoulders.

"Remus, I'm sorry." His voice was barely a whisper.

For a moment Sirius thought he wasn't going to answer. Remus simply stood there, eyes closed, looking up to the sky and letting snow fall onto his upturned face. When Remus finally turned and looked at him, face wet with snowmelt, Sirius could see the hurt still etched on his features and felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Padfoot," he said, "you really need to think before you speak."

Remus had dropped the cold formality, which Sirius supposed was a start. Now his voice was soft and low, laced with an exhaustion that was somehow even worse.

"It should have been you."

Remus looked at him, startled, and thank Merlin he was finally starting to speak normally again. "Sirius, there's no need—"

"I mean it, Remus." Now it was Sirius's turn to look at the sky, to see the snow falling endlessly into his vision, and away. "You're the responsible one, you actually think about these things. The only reason James picked me was because he couldn't use you."

He looked back just in time to see Remus shaking his head, sending snow and water flying off of his hair. "You're mad," he said. "You do know that, right? Azkaban unhinged you after all."

Coming from anyone else that would have been a stinging barb, but somehow when Remus said it, it was all right. And right now Sirius felt as though he deserved it.

"I'm too poor," Remus went on, absently brushing snow off of his head. "I can barely support myself, let alone a child. When I think about how often I couldn't be there for him… not just once in a while, but every full moon. Every twenty-eight days. No, Sirius, I think that things are best as they stand." He turned and started walking back the way they had come.

Sirius fell into step beside him. "You were right, though. I can't do this alone." He ran a hand through his already-tangled hair, and it came away wet with melted snow. "I… I want to do what's best for Harry, but…" Suddenly he turned, grabbed Remus by the shoulders, and whirled him around so they were face-to-face. "You have to help me, Moony, I can't do this by myself!"

"Sirius, calm down." They had reentered the station now, and people were staring. Gently, Remus took ahold of Sirius's wrists and removed his hands from his shoulders. "All right, I will help you. Now, will you listen to my advice this time?"

Sirius swallowed. He could almost feel a large lump moving down his throat, and no wonder: that had been a significant portion of his pride. Slowly, not trusting himself to speak, he nodded.

"Good." Remus smiled his slow, gentle smile, and squeezed Sirius's hands slightly before letting go. "In that case, you know what we have to do next."

* * *

Molly Weasley stood in her warm kitchen, looking out the window. The house was quiet with all the children gone, much quieter than she liked. Under any other circumstances she would have been glad for visitors, but this particular occasion filled her with anxiety and she found herself jumping at every noise.

The day Christmas break had ended, she had received an owl. The note was short, and it read:

_Dear Molly Weasley,_

_ Sirius and I would like to speak with you, at your earliest convenience, about a matter concerning Harry. Please send your reply by return owl._

_ Yours Sincerely,_

_ Remus J. Lupin_

They wanted, Molly supposed, to talk to her about the allegations that Rita Skeeter had made against Black. Now, Molly Weasley did not think of herself as a gullible person, but accusations of child abuse were not something that she could just brush off no matter who they were coming from. Besides, even before Skeeter had put quill to parchment Molly had been worried about the injury Harry had gotten during the Quidditch World Cup, and Black's insistence on getting him out of her sight the moment they came back.

No, as far as she was concerned, Black had a lot of explaining to do, though she had expected better from Lupin, an excellent teacher according to Percy. She fully intended to give the both of them a piece of her mind when they arrived, and a lot more than that if Black was hurting Harry.

A loud popping noise announced the arrival of the two men in the front yard of the Burrow. Compulsively brushing wrinkles out of her skirt, Molly opened the door to let them in.

Lupin greeted her pleasantly with a smile and a firm handshake, but it was Black she was looking at as she ushered them inside. He looked just like the criminal she supposed him to be, with his hair (much too long!) in a wild tangle about his face, and wearing a stormy glower that at once confirmed all of her worst suspicions about him.

She offered them tea. Lupin accepted and thanked her with a smile, whereas Black's scowl only deepened as he took the cup in front of him without comment. Molly did not miss the warning look that Lupin shot Black across the table.

Molly sat down with her own cup of tea. "So." She looked from one to the other, fixing them with her gaze. "What did you want to speak to me about?"

Lupin lowered his teacup back onto his saucer, slowly. "We know you're worried about Harry," he said without preamble. "So are we, and Sirius—" he shot another look at Black, "—was hoping that you'd be able to help, since you know Harry and have children of your own."

To tell the truth, Molly was somewhat taken aback by this declaration. She made no effort to hide the surprise in her voice as she looked at Black, raising an eyebrow. "_You're_ worried about Harry? Are you really, now?"

Black's chair clattered to the floor as he leapt to his feet. "If you think that you're the only person in the world who cares about Harry then you've—"

"_Sirius._" For a moment Black stood there, fists clenched so tightly on the tabletop it looked as if his knuckles were about to burst through the skin. His mouth worked furiously as though he would very much like to say more, but Lupin was still giving him that look as if reminding him of something and after a few very tense moments Black picked up his chair and threw himself back into it.

Lupin turned back to her. "You see, Molly," he said, all manners and affability now though his voice was quite firm, "we're aware that you think Sirius is mistreating Harry." Black snorted derisively. "Given some of the circumstances," Lupin continued, ignoring him, "I cannot say that I blame you. But you must believe me when I tell you you've got the wrong end of the stick entirely, and that Harry would not thank you for sending him back to his relatives."

"What are you—"

Black snorted again. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"You see," Lupin interrupted, giving Black a just-shut-up-and-let-me-do-the-talking kind of look, "you are correct in thinking Harry is being mistreated, and you need look no further than his aunt and uncle."

Molly felt as though she had suddenly frozen. "I—what?"

"Harry told us some things over the holiday," Lupin continued grimly. "He didn't act as though it were a big deal, but then Harry seems to think a lot of things are normal that—aren't."

"What kinds of things?"

"Did he ever tell you that he slept in a cupboard until the age of ten?" Black snarled. "Or that he had to cook and clean like a house-elf ever since he could walk? Well, he told _me_. Why do you think he wanted to live with me, eh? A perfect stranger, who'd just escaped from prison! Do you think I forced him, that I pressured him? I offered him a different home, I didn't think he'd take it, I thought he'd want to stay with his relatives, but I've never seen him happier than when he found out he'd be leaving them!" Black sat back again, breathing heavily.

Lupin looked at Molly with a puzzled expression. "You really didn't know any of this? Didn't your sons rescue Harry from his own bedroom two years ago?"

"Well, yes, but…" Molly thought back to that night, how angry she'd been with Ron and the twins for stealing the car, how worried she'd been when they'd disappeared in the dead of night without even leaving a note… Of course she'd been worried about Harry too, had wondered why he hadn't written back to Ron for weeks on end, but in the end her anger at her own sons had driven her thoughts about Harry's welfare right out of her mind. "They didn't tell me much about… anything."

"Did they tell you that Harry's relatives were starving him?"

"Ron did." Molly's voice was barely a whisper. "But really, not a week goes by when Ron doesn't say _we're_ starving him…"

"Ah yes," Lupin said with a slight smile, "growing boys will do that…" His face grew serious again. "The fact of the matter is, we don't know how much Harry went through while he was living in that house. Sirius and I both want to help him, but neither of us know how to go about it without making things worse. We thought that, if we asked the advice of someone who knows Harry, and who has a lot of experience dealing with children…" He looked at her intently. "So will you help us?"

Molly drew herself up to her full height. "Of course I'll help," she said. "What would you like to know?"

* * *

**A/N:** Wow, lots of drama in this chapter. I actually really enjoyed writing the conflict between Sirius and Remus, though I'm glad it got cleared up quickly (along with the one between Sirius and Molly). It was also a nice opportunity to answer a question I'd been wondering about for some time now, namely why after Sirius died in canon Remus didn't make any attempt to take Harry in. A bit of careful reasoning later, I concluded that it would very likely have been illegal - anti-werewolf prejudice and all.

I also like writing from Sirius's pov - he's one of those characters I really connect with from a writing standpoint. Molly, on the other hand, was difficult as hell - I hope I managed to write her believably.

I've had a few people ask what pairings will be in this fic. The answer is that right now, the only things I'm sure of are that Ron and Hermione will eventually end up together, and that this particular story will be slash-free. Ultimately, though, I'm not really a pairings writer (I much prefer platonic love), so while there might be a bit of romance going on off to the side, it won't in any way be the main focus of the story.

Just a quick note on how I answer reviews: While I appreciate feedback, I don't have the time to write a reply to every single review. So my rule of thumb is that if someone expresses a specific comment or concern that I can answer in a few sentences without involving spoilers, I'll write a response. Otherwise, know that I do appreciate receiving thoughtful reviews even if I can't reply!

**restoringthehistory** - I'm assuming that Vernon and Petunia never told Harry the facts of life, and that Hogwarts doesn't have anything resembling a sex ed program. I know that it's still pretty flimsy reasoning that Harry wouldn't know _anything_, but "The Talk" is a scene I really want to write so I hope the stretch will be forgiven.

**Taylor1991** and **Tamira** - Thank you for the fairly detailed feedback on every chapter. I appreciate it!

**Taylor1991** - I don't know how exactly Rita found out that stuff about Sirius, but I'm sure she's capable of it - never underestimate Skeeter's ability to dig up dirt.

**Tamira** - Hermione probably told Harry and Ron about the time-turner offscreen; I just didn't judge it as being an important enough scene to include in the fic. I think Hedwig only stayed at the Burrow until they were through hammering out Dudley's diet - she's a loyal familiar; she'd want to come back to Harry at some point. Hagrid was keeping the motorbike; he returned it after Sirius was found innocent. The scene with Dobby just picked up from the parallel scene in GoF; I'm sorry if this caused confusion.

Continuing to call Remus by his last name was deliberate on my part, since the story is being told from Harry's pov and I know that it can be _very_ awkward to get on a first-name basis with a former teacher. Right now he's still thinking of Remus as "Lupin" even though he's calling him by his first name, but this will change in later chapters as Harry gets more comfortable with it.

**QueenSunset** - Yeah, most of Sirius's canine antics in this chapter are based off of a dog I had years and years ago - he actually did open presents with his teeth. Thanks for the continued reviews!


	14. YEAR4 The Quidditch Final

And, after a long silence, here's the next chapter.

Also, the usual disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am not making money off of this fic.

* * *

"_Your servant has failed me again." From the foot of the chair came the sound of high-pitched sobs._

"_My Lord… you have my most sincere apologies…"_

_ "Silence." The man stopped talking at once. "I am giving you one more chance. I will not tolerate any more blunders from either of you. My patience is running out. And as for _that_," his wand flicked toward something out of sight at the feet of his chair, "I think that it needs one more reminder of why I do not tolerate failure… _Crucio_!"_

_ From the floor there was the sound of screaming, and Harry was screaming too. Voldemort would hear him, would know he was there…_

"Potter! What do you think you are doing?"

Harry opened his eyes to see Ron and Hermione standing over him, and behind them—he suppressed a groan—was Snape.

"Professor, he couldn't—"

"_Silence!_" He reached between Ron and Hermione and pulled Harry none too gently to his feet.

"But he didn't—"

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley."

"But—"

"That's ten more, and if you continue to speak out of turn it will be fifty." Ron shut his mouth and sat down, looking furious. "And as for _you—_" Snape turned back to Harry. "You have disrupted my class one too many times, Potter. We're going to the headmaster's office. _Now!_"

He dragged Harry all the way to the door, where he turned back to look at the rest of the class. Everyone was staring. "Carry on while I am gone. Or are Potter's antics so fascinating that you have forgotten why you are here?" The last glimpse Harry got of the Potions classroom was of several students turning hastily back to their cauldrons.

He yanked his arm out of Snape's grip and followed the Potions Master out of the dungeons, his scar still burning. Who did Snape think he was, anyway? First dragging him to the headmaster's office for something he couldn't help, then taking points from Rom just for trying to explain the situation… Harry seethed throughout the entire walk, fantasizing about things he'd like to do to Snape.

When they reached the headmaster's office, Dumbledore looked up from his desk. "Ah, Severus, Harry," he said pleasantly. Then, with a stern look at Harry, "I hope you haven't been causing trouble in Severus's class?"

"_No!_ I—"

Snape silenced him with a look. "Headmaster, you told me to inform you at once if Potter here—" he sneered as he said Harry's name "—exhibited any… _unusual_ behavior. Potter—" Harry jumped at being addressed unexpectedly "—explain to the headmaster exactly what happened during my class."

Harry didn't want to answer, but Dumbledore turned his piercing light blue gaze from Snape to rest on him. "Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath and told Dumbledore what he could remember of the dream, all the while uncomfortably aware that Snape was standing beside him and looking at him with an unfathomable gaze. When he had finished, Dumbledore looked up at the ceiling, tapping his fingers together.

Snape broke the silence. "I suppose it is too much to hope that you will inform me of the meaning of this."

_What about me?_ Harry wanted to say, furious that Snape thought he had the right to know the details of something that had come out of _his_ mind before Harry did, but Dumbledore was speaking again.

"A discussion for another time, Severus, as I believe that Harry should return to class." Dumbledore swept his gaze over them both.

"As you wish, headmaster. Potter. Come." And he swept Harry from the room.

* * *

"…and he didn't say anything after that, just told Snape I needed to get back to class. I thought he'd tell me more later, but—"

"Ah, well, that's only to be expected." Harry, Ron, and Hermione had met in an empty classroom that evening, and now Harry and Ron were leaning over the two-way mirror while Hermione watched the Marauders' Map to make sure no one else was within hearing range.

"That Dumbledore doesn't think I have a right to know what goes on in my own head?"

Sirius sighed. "That Dumbledore doesn't understand anything more about the dream than you do. You couldn't remember a whole lot of detail, after all."

"I remember that Voldemort was talking to someone. I remember they were planning something, and if the past couple of years are anything to go by I'm pretty sure it has something to do with me."

"That's another thing," said Hermione, coming up to stand beside them and handing the Map to Ron. He took it wordlessly. "Harry's scar has been hurting more and more often this year. Do you think that could mean something significant?"

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, something Harry was beginning to notice he did whenever he was agitated. "I don't know, but it definitely looks dodgy. Especially with what Dumbledore already told you about the connection." Harry half-consciously raised a hand to rub at his forehead. "I've noticed a lot of other troubling signs this year too. Death Eaters running about in the open… Unexplained deaths and disappearances…" Sirius had been looking off into the distance, but his attention abruptly snapped back to them. "I don't know what's going on, but I want all of you to be careful. Especially you, Harry. No more sneaking off to Hogsmeade under the Invisibility Cloak, or running down into forgotten chambers underneath the school."

Harry gave an exasperated sigh. "You're telling me this, after all the things you did while you were at school? I've told you, I don't go looking for trouble—"

"—trouble goes looking for you," Sirius finished. "That's exactly what I'm worried about."

"Look, I'll be careful, okay? And anyway, it's not like I have time for heroics with the way Angelina's been training us…"

"Ah yes, the Quidditch final." Sirius grinned. "And you'll really be playing Hufflepuff this time?"

"Uh-huh." In the last game before the final, Hufflepuss vs. Slytherin, Cedric Diggory had grabbed the Snitch from right under Malfoy's nose, ending the match when the teams were neck-and-neck. In spite of his continued rivalry with Cedric, Harry couldn't suppress a grin at the memory.

"Well then," said Sirius, "should be an easy game."

Hermione looked reproachful. "Sirius! Just because they're Hufflepuffs doesn't mean that they're not good at anything!"

"What I meant," said Sirius, holding up a hand, "is that Slytherin plays dirty. You won't have that problem with Hufflepuff." He looked thoughtful. "Doesn't mean you shouldn't try, though. Now, if you really want to give yourselves an edge…"

He gave Harry and Ron pointers on flying while Hermione watched the Map, but after awhile she started coughing and looking at her watch. Checking the time, Harry was startled to realize that they had only fifteen minutes to get back to Gryffindor Tower. They said good-bye to Sirius, and Harry tucked the mirror into his pocket as they left—just in time to run into Cedric and Cho walking in the opposite direction, arm-in-arm.

Harry scowled. He hadn't spoken to Cedric since that day in Hogsmeade, and wasn't at all eager to do so again. Hermione gave the couple a quick hello as they passed each other, but Harry and Ron pushed past them without exchanging a word. Ron even shot a glare Cedric's way.

Hermione cringed, but Cedric only gave them a puzzled look before returning to his conversation with Cho. Harry felt his insides squirm.

"There's no call to be acting like that," Hermione hissed as soon as they were out of earshot. "Just because you'll be playing each other in a few days—"

"You just don't get it, Hermione," said Ron. "This is _Quidditch_."

Hermione threw her hands into the air with a muttered, "_Boys!_" and continued down the hallway without them.

"Mental," said Ron. "Completely, utterly mental."

Harry didn't answer. He was still thinking about Cho.

* * *

Harry woke before dawn on the day of the Quidditch final. He was lying in bed, fantasizing about beating Cedric, when Dobby appeared by his bedside with a loud crack.

"Harry Potter, sir!" he said, bowing low.

"Dobby?" Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Dobby has come to give Harry Potter his good luck present, sir! Dobby is hearing about the Quidditch final, sir, and Dobby is knowing how much Harry Potter loves Quidditch, and so Dobby made something for Harry Potter to wear during the game!" Bowing low, he handed Harry another pair of socks.

_Gryffindor colors_, Harry noted as he took them; one of the socks was red with a pattern of Snitches, the other was gold with a pattern of Quaffles. Dobby was staring at him expectantly so he pulled them onto his feet, causing the elf's eyes to leak with happiness.

"Thanks, Dobby," he said. The other boys were awake now and were all staring at him, grinning. "I'm sure they'll bring me luck."

"Harry Potter is most gracious, sir." Dobby bowed low again. Dean caught Harry's eye and raised an eyebrow, and it was all he could do to hold in his laughter. "But Dobby has to get back to the kitchens, sir, we is supposed to be making breakfast!" He disappeared with another low bow.

The others continued to gape. Seamus was the first to find his voice.

"Blimey, Harry, are you actually going to _wear_ those things to the match?"

"Of course I am," Harry replied loftily. "They're a good luck token, after all." With that, he got dressed and led the way down to the Great Hall.

Harry forced down a hurried breakfast and was encouraging Ron to do the same, though he gave up when he saw just how green Ron was looking. He was just getting up to follow his teammates down to the Quidditch pitch when McGonagall accosted him.

"A word, Potter." Angelina glared at him as though she thought he was trying to make things difficult for the team. His heart sinking, Harry followed McGonagall from the Great Hall, wondering what on earth he was supposed to have done now.

"Your family would like to see you before the match, Potter," she said briskly. Harry barely had time to process this phrase before she led him into a small chamber just behind the Head Table. When he saw who was waiting for him there, his face broke into a wide grin.

"Sirius! Remus! What are you doing here?"

Sirius clapped him on the back. "We've come to cheer on Gryffindor, of course!"

Lupin smiled gently. "That is one reason. But we're also worried about these dreams you've been having. We thought it would be a good idea if we were here to keep an eye on you."

"Well, yes, but there's something else too," Sirius said hastily, apparently seeing the look on Harry's face. He paused, and when he spoke again, there was a hesitation in his voice that hadn't been there before. "Harry—we also wanted to ask you something."

Harry looked from Sirius, who was shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, to Lupin, who had backed up a couple of steps and was looking anywhere but at Harry. "Well?" he asked.

Sirius seemed to have found his voice again. "Would it… would it be all right with you if Remus moved in with us?"

There was a brief silence. Lupin coughed. Harry blinked a few times, and then his face broke into a wide grin. "Move in with us? Wow, that's great!"

Lupin looked at him, eyes wide. "That's really all right with you, Harry?" His voice was rough and croaky.

Harry blinked. "Of course I'm okay with it. Why wouldn't I be?"

"See, what'd I tell you?" said Sirius, thumping Lupin on the back.

Lupin recovered himself, giving Sirius a good-natured glare before he spoke again. "You see, Harry, because of my… condition, I haven't been able to find paid work since I graduated Hogwarts. James—your father—supported me financially after my parents died, paid me to do odd jobs, but actually moving in with him… It was out of the question. He'd just gotten married, had a child, and for me to impose like that…"

"No, really, it's okay," said Harry. He'd never seen Lupin so ill at ease. "I'd really like it if you came to live with us. Um, you know, it's really isolated out there, and Christmas was great with all three of us, and I'd like it if it could be like that all the time… So, um, yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"I—" Lupin let out a breath. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry nodded, unsure of what to say. Fortunately, at that moment McGonagall's voice carried to him from outside the room.

"Potter! Your teammates are waiting for you!"

"I have to go!" Harry gasped, grabbing his Firebolt. "Wish me luck!" He dashed from the room before he heard their answer.

"Where have you been?" Angelina snarled as Harry burst into the changing room.

"I'm sorry!" Harry gasped, yanking on his Quidditch robes. "Something came up at the last minute—"

"It better not be something that'll distract you from Quidditch!"

"It won't."

Angelina nodded, looking calmer, and turned to address the whole team. "It's time," she said. "We've been training for all this year, and we've done ourselves proud in the past couple of matches." She paused and swept her gaze around the room, looking at each member of the team in turn. "Let's get out there and show them what we can do."

The team gave a cheer, shouldered their brooms, and followed Angelina out onto the Quidditch pitch. The day was bright and clear but very dry, decent conditions for a game. Angelina shook hands with Cedric on Madam Hooch's command; they gave each other a cordial nod as well, Harry noted. Then Madam Hooch blew her whistle and they were airborne.

Harry circled the pitch, scanning everywhere for a glimpse of gold, and noted Cedric doing the same on the other end. He could hear Lee Jordan's commentary—Gryffindor had scored first—and a glance at the Gryffindor section of the stands showed him Sirius and Lupin, standing and cheering on his team.

He went back to the game with a smile. A Bludger came hurtling his way; he ducked around it, and Fred pelted by him just in time to knock it toward one of the Hufflepuff Chasers. He stopped briefly to give Harry a thumbs-up before returning to the game.

The score was 60-40 in Gryffindor's favor when Harry saw it—the Snitch. Cedric, on the opposite side of the pitch, saw it too. Harry pelted toward it, flattening himself against the handle of his Firebolt… Cedric was slightly closer… he could hear the roaring of the crowd… he pushed his broom for all it was worth…

And then, quite suddenly, there was a familiar jerk behind his navel. The Quidditch pitch disappeared in a whirl of color and sound, and Harry realized with awful clarity—_someone had slipped him a Portkey_.

* * *

**A/N:** Really, really sorry it's been so long. I did not mean for this to happen.

Originally I had another chapter in between the last chapter and this one, but I was reluctant to post it because I anticipated it generating a lot of controversy. Looking it over again I realized that there were a lot of plot points that just didn't ring true, and I couldn't think of a way to fix it. Eventually it got to the point where the scheduled update was long past, I still hadn't thought of a way to fix the chapter, and I was far too busy to write anyway.

Coming back to the story I decided it would be better to just drop that chapter, and that skipping over pretty much the entire second half of the school year was a price I was willing to pay.

Anyway, now that I no longer have weekly impossible homework to worry about, I should be able to start writing reliably again. New update schedule for the rest of year 4 is a chapter every other weekend - there are only two more left, so I _will_ be able to stick to it. After that there will be another hiatus while I plan out year 5. Year 5 is where things will really start going in new directions - the flowcharts I've been working on are currently a tangled mess - plus I'll be taking a qualifying exam in August, so I have no idea just how long said hiatus will be. That said, know that I haven't abandoned this story, and that the plans for the next year are in the making, if not entirely finalized.

Thank you everyone for your patience, and thank you to everyone who has reviewed or faved during the past year. There are too many reviews for me to write responses this time, but know that I did read every one and that I appreciate your feedback.


	15. YEAR4 Voldemort's Return

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Harry Potter, I don't know what I would be doing, but I definitely wouldn't be in grad school.

Some of the dialogue in this chapter has been lifted from canon; this is for reference only, and I claim none of it as my own.

* * *

A look of concentration appeared on Harry's face, and he shot down the pitch toward the flash of gold.

The other Seeker—Diggory—had seen it too, and he was also racing toward it for all he was worth. Harry had the superior broom, though—he would get to it first…

Sirius was on his feet and shouting without realizing it. Gryffindor was going to win—Harry was going to win, Sirius thought with a surge of pride.

And then, without warning, Harry vanished in a flash of blue.

The cheers of the spectators changed to gasps of shock. The other Seeker pulled up short, shouting something Sirius couldn't hear. Harry's Firebolt tumbled to the ground. The Snitch fluttered away unnoticed.

"Come on… Sirius, come on…" Remus had ahold of his wrist and was dragging him from his seat. Numbly, Sirius followed. As Remus led him from their section of the stands, Sirius managed to drag his eyes away from the pitch long enough to look where they were going.

Dumbledore stood at the foot of the stands, surrounded by a knot of people demanding to know what had happened to Harry. As Remus and Sirius approached, the crowd fell silent and drew back slightly as if afraid.

When they got within his sight, Dumbledore swept his light blue gaze over them both. "Sirius," he said. "Remus." He was not smiling. On the contrary, his face was deadly serious. "Come with me." He turned and strode from the pitch; Moody and Snape were following as well, Sirius noticed numbly. Somewhere behind them, he could hear McGonagall's voice as she tried to restore order.

A figure on a broomstick hurtled down from the sky and landed hard in front of them. It was Ron, ashen-faced. Hermione, too, was running toward them from her section of the stands; she skidded to a halt in front of them, panting.

Dumbledore looked at them both. "Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger. Yes, I suppose you'd better come as well." Ron and Hermione fell silently into step beside them.

Looking back at the pitch, Sirius saw Harry's Firebolt lying forgotten on the ground. _Someone should get it_, he thought. _It'll get trampled there, someone should pick it up, give it back to Harry…_ But Remus's hand on his arm continued to guide him firmly away.

Dumbledore led the group of them up to his office. As soon as the door was closed, he turned to face them, his expression grave.

"It seems," he said, "that someone has managed to slip Harry a Portkey." Nobody replied. "I think I needn't tell you who is responsible."

"Voldemort." Sirius wanted to growl the name, but instead it came out in a shaky whisper.

"So what do we _do_ about it?" Moody growled.

Dumbledore met Moody's eyes silently and then looked, surprisingly, at Snape.

"I can think of only one reason for him to want the Potter boy, alive, in his current condition," said Snape, inclining his head. There was an edge to his voice that Sirius had never heard before.

"Then it is as I feared." Dumbledore looked at them again, his gaze sweeping over each of them in turn. "Tonight, the Dark Lord Voldemort will rise again."

There was a stunned silence. For a moment, nobody said a word.

"What about Harry?" Sirius demanded, yanking his arm from Remus's grip and placing both hands on Dumbledore's desk, leaning over to stare him in the face. "Where is he, how do we get him out of this?" He tried to hold himself steady, but his hands shook uncontrollably.

Dumbledore held up a hand for silence. "I have an idea—a guess, no more than that, but my guesses are usually right—of where Harry has been taken. If you wish to help him, you must do as I say. All of you," he added, looking from Sirius to Ron and Hermione.

Sirius nodded. He felt the others doing the same around him.

There was a sudden movement. Snape had clapped his right hand to his left forearm. He was schooling his face carefully, but Sirius still managed to glimpse a flash of pain in his eyes.

"Severus?"

"It had happened, Headmaster."

"The graveyard?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore looked at Snape. "Stay here for the time being. Later…"

"I am prepared." Snape's black eyes glittered with an emotion that Sirius was unable to identify. He locked eyes with Dumbledore.

"We will discuss the matter when I return." Snape nodded, once, and swept out of the room. Dumbledore turned to the rest of them.

"Harry is being held in a cemetery in Little Hangleton. But we cannot go straight there. No, listen," as Sirius opened his mouth. "We must have the element of surprise. If Voldemort sees us coming while Harry is still in his clutches, he will kill him immediately."

"What about us?" Sirius jumped; he had all but forgotten that Ron and Hermione were still there. "We want to help, we want to—"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Stay here," he said, not unkindly. "Professor McGonagall will be up shortly." He turned to the others. "We will Floo into Hogsmeade. From there, I will guide you to the Apparition point."

* * *

"You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall? You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in an attempt to save him—and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen… I could not touch the boy."

Harry listened as Voldemort went on to tell the story of how he had clung to life after his curse had rebounded, how he had found Quirrell and been thwarted once again. All the while Harry was hoping desperately for rescue, for Dumbledore to come, or even the Muggle police… how was it that he had been playing Quidditch only half an hour ago? It seemed like so much longer… like something that had happened in another universe…

"…and then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last… a servant returned to me. Barty Crouch Junior, who had remained faithful to me through the torments of Azkaban, whose father took pity on him and removed him shortly before he would have died… kept hidden, controlled by the Imperius curse, until last year his father's disgrace came to light. Your father's control slipped then, didn't it, Junior? You killed your father, and came to seek me.

"Junior's body, of course, was ill adapted for possession, as all assumed him dead, and would attract far too much attention if noticed. However, he was the able-bodied servant I needed, and, excellent wizard that he is, was able to follow the instructions I gave him, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth…"

Harry thrashed once more against his bonds, knowing all along that it was no good. He was trapped, Voldemort had him right where he wanted him…

"…but how to get at Harry Potter? For he has been better protected than I think even he knows… So how could I take him?

"Now see the way that fate favors Lord Voldemort. For Junior had in his possession a house-elf, which had belonged to his father and now had to obey him. From this elf he learned that Potter had befriended another of her kind, one which was now in the employ of the very school which the boy attended. So Junior planted this house-elf Winky—" Harry jerked violently, "—at Hogwarts, where she was under orders to gather any and all information she could on Harry Potter, and to aid us in getting him away from Hogwarts.

"Oh, it has not been easy. My previous attempts at getting him from under the crooked nose of that Muggle-loving fool ended in failure. My first thought was to use a Portkey… something small and unnoticeable, a pebble that could be slipped into his clothing, so that he would be in contact with it when it activated… The elf planted such a Portkey, but she was foolish enough to put it in his shoe where it would be noticed and discarded… Oh, how I made her suffer for her foolishness…" Voldemort's slitted nostrils flared.

"After the first Portkey came back empty, I formulated another plan. I knew from the elf that Potter had been in contact with one Cedric Diggory, and that they had been working together to solve a certain mystery. I made good use of this information. Junior brewed a batch of Polyjuice, and ordered his servant to steal a hair from Diggory. It was not hard. Then, on a day when Diggory remained at the school but Potter had gone to the village, Junior went as well bearing Diggory's appearance. The plan was to get Potter alone under the pretext of sharing information, and Apparate him here once they were out of sight. That plan, too, failed. The Auror Moody saw them together, and became suspicious… he followed them, and found a pretext for speaking to Potter… the hour was nearly up by then… Junior was forced to flee. I began to despair of ever laying hands on the boy.

"But then… why, then I got one more piece of information from my servant's servant. She had been holding back what she could… still loyal to her former master, no doubt… She broke, though, as they all break in the end. And what did she tell me but that there would shortly be an occasion of some importance to the Potter boy, and that his other elf friend—your former servant, Lucius—had once knitted him a pair of socks. She suggested that he give Potter another. He did exactly that, and when he was through knitting the first sock Junior's servant brought it to him—he turned it into a Portkey, set to activate this very morning. It brought him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore's help and protection, and into my waiting arms. And here he is… the boy you all believed had been my downfall… _Crucio!_"

* * *

Sirius looked all around him. There was little light, but he could tell that Dumbledore had brought him to what must once have been a fine Muggle house, though one that had long since fallen into disuse. Slightly to the side he could see the silhouettes of Remus and Moody, both tense and at the ready.

"The graveyard is a short distance from here." Dumbledore's voice was barely more than a whisper, but it carried crystal clear in the silence of the old house. "We will need to approach without being seen. To that end, you should use whatever means you think best."

While Remus cast a Disillusionment charm over himself and Moody whipped out his Invisibility Cloak, Sirius transformed. He lifted his dog's nose and sniffed the air. The house smelled dusty, but under the dust was a scent of old death. His upper lip curled away from his teeth, nose wrinkled in a snarl.

The door opened—apparently of its own accord, but it must have been Dumbledore—and was nearly ripped off its hinges by a sudden gust of wind. A storm seemed to have blown up out of nowhere; the countryside all around the house was darkened by the black clouds that covered the sky. Sirius could smell lightning; every hair on his body was standing on end.

Sirius was out first. He bolted toward the graveyard, silent as a ghost on his padded paws. As he got closer he heard voices—spells, shouts, screams—and the rustling of cloaks. There was a scent of fear-sweat upon the air, and blood _oh dear Merlin Harry's blood_ mingled with that of someone else—a stranger.

He skidded to a halt just outside of the ring of cloaked figures and looked around cautiously. He needn't have bothered; none of them were looking in his direction, but at whatever was happening at the center of the circle. The only thing his dog's eyes could see there was a blur of bright light.

Flattening his body to the ground, Sirius changed back—just in time to see James come out of Voldemort's wand.

* * *

"When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments… but we will give you time… you must run to safety, help is on the way… do you understand, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry gasped.

"Do it now," whispered his father's voice, "be ready to run… do it now…"

"NOW!" Harry yelled, wrenching his wand away—the cage of light vanished—the shadowy figures closed in on Voldemort, shielding Harry from his gaze—

Harry ran as he had never run before in his life. All around him the graveyard seemed to explode with the light of flying curses. He ran, ducking behind headstones, firing a few of his own curses over his shoulder… there were shrieks from several Death Eaters who'd been hit by Harry's curses, or had managed to hit each other… He could hear Voldemort screaming, "Stop him! _Stop him!_"

He was nearly out of the graveyard when an excruciating pain in his leg brought him crashing to the ground. He looked, and a sudden flash of lightning showed him the snake Nagini looking back at him, head reared… a dark stain was spreading over his Quidditch robes…

Gasping, Harry raised his wand, but he was already dizzy from loss of blood and the snake was too quick for him. In a movement too fast to follow she struck his wrist; his wand clattered to the ground. Harry picked up a rock in his good left hand and struck out, but it only grazed the snake's scaly hide… enraged, she struck again, sinking her fangs into his side this time… Harry cried out in agony… Nagini raised her head for one last strike… this time, she was aiming for his throat…

A jet of green light flashed over Harry's body and hit the snake, sending her flying back in a long arc. He looked behind him and saw Sirius, his face a mask of rage, wand pointed at the spot where Nagini had been.

"Th-thanks, Sirius. Thought I was a goner…" Harry slumped to the ground. Sirius went white as he knelt down next to him. Harry felt dizzy and lightheaded; the graveyard was fading from his vision. Then Sirius's arms were around him, there was the sensation of turning into a crushing blackness, and Harry knew no more.

* * *

**A/N:** To those of you who have spotted it: yes, I am aware of the fatal flaw in the use of this particular Portkey; yes, I do have a canon-compliant explanation; and yes, it will be given in the next chapter. So, while I'm glad my readers are paying attention, I would appreciate it if everyone held off on the nitpicks until the next chapter is out.

Speaking of fatal flaws, though, I nearly made another really dumb mistake in this chapter: in the original draft I wrote the whole graveyard scene as taking place at night as it did in canon, even though Harry vanished in the middle of a Quidditch match, which always take place in the morning! I'm very glad that I caught it before I posted, since I don't think people's suspension of disbelief when it comes to time slips would extend quite that far. So instead I added the storm in for atmosphere, because let's face it, most of these scenes just work better in the dark. Let's just say that Voldemort is so evil he summoned up the storm clouds just by being present, and leave it at that.

I'm still not entirely happy with how Dumbledore & Co. went in to rescue Harry, or with how much time passed at Hogwarts vs. how much time Crouch would need to work the spell that resurrected Voldemort. While there are good reasons for them to need the element of surprise, Dumbledore's method of Flooing and then Apparating and then running in from afar still strikes me as rather clumsy. (Incidentally, I'm assuming that, being a disused Muggle house, the Riddle Manor doesn't have a Floo connection.) For now I'm putting aside perfection in favor of updating when I promised to update, but I might have to revise this later.

Also: One Horcrux down! (Not that anyone knows it yet, but still.)

**AnnaAza:** I briefly considered making the Snitch the Portkey, but rejected the idea almost immediately because there was no way to guarantee that Harry would get it and not Cedric. (Even if Crouch were to make Winky enchant it like Dobby did the Bludger, there was still a good chance of her sabotaging the plan.) I did mention in a previous chapter's Author Notes, but I'll reiterate here: the TriWizard Tournament is not taking place because of the sudden death of Barty Crouch; since he was one of the main organizers this would have a major impact.

**Dracarot:** As shown in this chapter, there was good reason for Harry not to have that discussion with Cedric (though in hindsight, there were probably better ways to accomplish that). Which, incidentally, also means that no one knows Skeeter's an Animagus, nor is anyone likely to find out any time soon.

**Cassandra30:** Harry and Sirius are listening to Dumbledore at this point because they both have a lot of personal respect for him; I'm also taking into account that Sirius, having been in the Order, is in the habit of doing what Dumbledore tells him; that he's still not thinking straight due to twelve years in Azkaban (just because he's still sane doesn't mean he wasn't affected!); and that Harry's upbringing has had a major influence on his views of his own rights and what is and isn't normal. This doesn't mean that Dumbledore is right, but he does hold a lot of influence among the other characters and it's going to take everyone awhile to realize that maybe he doesn't know best.


	16. YEAR4 Aftermath

**Disclaimer:** I make no claim of ownership on the world of Harry Potter. I also make no claim on financial reimbursement for all the time I've been spending on this fic that would probably be better spent studying.

* * *

Harry woke slowly. Pain throbbed through his body; he felt sick and weak.

Gradually he became aware that he was lying in bed. _Must be in the hospital wing, then_, he thought. He remembered the graveyard, remembered Voldemort and Nagini, but the pain and shock of what had happened was filtered through a thick mental fog.

He tried to move a little and found that it took great effort even to wiggle his fingers. _I must really be in a bad way_, he thought, giving it up.

Instead, he listened. He couldn't make out much: distant footsteps, voices so faint he couldn't tell what they were saying. Beside him, there was a rustle of cloth.

Harry forced his eyes open. At first all he could see was white. Blurry white. Of course; someone must have removed his glasses. The glowing spherical bubbles on the ceiling were enough to tell him that he wasn't in the Hogwarts hospital wing.

He turned his head to the left, and found that it was gradually getting easier to move. Someone was sitting in a chair by his bedside, head bowed, holding Harry's uninjured hand in both of his own. His entire body slumped in the chair, as if he were utterly exhausted.

"S-Sirius?" Harry managed to croak.

Sirius's head shot up. For a few seconds he simply stared, eyes widened, and then he grabbed Harry and pulled him into his arms.

The change in position was so sudden that Harry felt a wave of dizziness wash through him, along with a fresh stab of pain from the wound in his side. "Sirius… that hurts…" But Sirius did not let go. Instead he continued to hold onto Harry, who could feel him shaking violently.

It took Harry a moment to realize that Sirius was crying.

He was so shocked that he didn't immediately notice when Sirius relaxed his hold and slipped a hand under Harry's back to lower him, gently, back onto the bed.

"S-sorry." Sirius gave a shaky laugh and swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his robes. "I ought to tell the others you've woken up, we've all been worried sick…"

"Where am I?"

"A private ward at St. Mungo's. St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," he elaborated at Harry's confused look, handing him his glasses. "I Apparated you here after…" He swallowed, but couldn't seem to go on.

"But what— Voldemort is— I mean, is Dumbledore— and at Hogwarts—" Harry tried to ask five different questions at once, and ended up feeling as though his tongue had tied itself in knots.

"Hold on a minute," Sirius said gently. "One thing at a time. Dumbledore will be in as soon as he learns you're awake, I'm sure, and he'll be able to answer your questions much better than I can."

"Dumbledore's _here?_"

"He's been in and out. Even if he's not here now, there'll be someone who can contact him at a moment's notice." Harry's confusion must have shown on his face. Sirius sighed. "We can't leave you unguarded right now, Harry. Not as vulnerable as you currently are." Harry noticed that he was gripping his wand as he spoke.

That reminded him of something, though: a more practical question. "Did anybody get my wand?"

Sirius opened his mouth but at that moment another wizard entered the room. He was wearing lime-green robes with a crossed wand and bone embroidered on the chest.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, I see you are awake," he said, smiling. "I'm Healer Smethwyck. Here, drink this." He gently put a hand behind Harry's neck and held a cup to his lips. Whatever potion was in there left a metallic aftertaste in his mouth but the sick, dizzy feeling receded almost immediately.

"Feeling better?" he asked, smiling. Harry nodded.

"You'll have to keep taking the Blood-Replenishing Potion every hour," Smethwyck informed him, making a note on his clipboard. "Whatever bit you had a rather unusual kind of poison, which appears to keep wounds open, but we're currently at work on finding an antidote."

"How long till you can release him?" Sirius asked.

"Finding an antidote to an unknown poison can take up to several weeks," said Smethwyck. He began to run his wand over Harry's body, spending a particularly long time on his right wrist. At last he nodded in a satisfied sort of way and stepped back, making another note.

"You're going to be fine," he said, "just as long as you don't try to remove the bandages or move around too much." He turned to Sirius. "Shall I have the others informed that he has awoken?"

Sirius nodded. "If you would."

As soon as they were alone again Harry turned to Sirius. "How long have I been in here, anyway?" He eased into a sitting position, and found that the action was relatively painless as long as he moved slowly.

Sirius saw what he was doing and sat his pillow up against the headboard. Harry sighed in relief as he leaned back into it. "It's been three days," Sirius grunted.

"Three days?" Harry lurched forward, and immediately regretted the action as a fresh stab of pain shot through his side. "I've been out for three _days?_"

Sirius nodded, the deep shadows under his eyes making him look about ten years older. "You nearly bled to death before I even got you here. For awhile it even looked like you might… like you might not make it…"

"I didn't know it was that bad," Harry admitted. He had a feeling that he should say more, but was spared the attempt when the door opened and Dumbledore stepped in, followed closely by Lupin.

"Ah, Harry," said Dumbledore with a smile, though his eyes were no longer twinkling. "It's good to see that you are finally awake." Harry nodded as Dumbledore conjured chairs for himself and Lupin.

Once they were seated Dumbledore gave Harry a piercing look, and now even his smile had faded. "Harry, I need you to tell me how this happened."

Harry looked down. He didn't want to think about what had happened three nights ago, didn't want to relive it.

"We know what happened," Sirius said harshly. "We were there, we saw—"

"That is not why I am asking," Dumbledore said, cutting him off. He leaned toward Harry, who looked at him very reluctantly.

"If I thought I could help you by allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what you have been through, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for awhile will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened before we came to the graveyard."

Harry took a deep breath and began to tell them. He started with Dobby giving him socks on the morning of the Quidditch final, since that seemed easiest. He then went on to explain the Portkey hidden in his sock, about suddenly finding himself in the graveyard, about Barty Crouch Jr.'s presence there. It was harder to talk about the ritual that brought Voldemort back to life—he thought of Crouch, preparing to cut off his own hand, an expression of utmost ecstasy on his face, and wanted to be sick.

"Harry?" Sirius asked. He belatedly noticed that Sirius's hand was on his shoulder.

The touch gave Harry courage enough to swallow the bile in his throat and tell them the details of the ceremony. When he described how Crouch had taken his blood, he felt Sirius's hand clench.

"Show us your arm, Harry," said Dumbledore. He was looking down at Harry with a grim expression on his face.

Harry grimaced and pushed up his sleeve. His right arm was bandaged up to the elbow, and he gingerly rolled some of the gauze back to show Dumbledore the cut.

"He said my blood would make him stronger than if he'd used someone else's. He said the protection my—my mother left in me—he'd have it too. And he was right—he could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face."

He then repeated everything Voldemort had described about his previous attempts to get him to the graveyard, and his use of Winky in formulating his final plan. "What happened to Winky?" he asked. "Voldemort said that she didn't want to do any of it. Is she…"

"We do not know where Winky is." Dumbledore shook his head. "It is, however, doubtful that she has returned to the service of Barty Crouch Jr."

When Harry continued to look puzzled, Lupin broke in. "In order to transport you to the graveyard, she brought Crouch a sock, Harry."

Of course… Winky had snuck away from Hogwarts with one of the socks Dobby was knitting, and given it to Junior to turn into a Portkey… and after he was finished, he had handed it back to her…

"So she was free all along? But she didn't want to work for Voldemort… Why did she even return the sock, then?" Harry demanded.

"I very much doubt that Winky was in her right state of mind at the time," said Dumbledore. "I'm fairly certain that she was the one you witnessed Voldemort torturing at the end of your last dream, and that this was neither the first nor the last such occurrence. I have no doubt that both Voldemort and Crouch did their utmost to keep her in terror of them from the outset, and I think it likely that they might even have made use of the Imperius curse to ensure that she carried out her part of the plan without a fight."

"We found out later that she disappeared from Hogwarts around the same time you did," Lupin added. "Your friend Dobby told us that she'd been in quite a state."

"We can discuss this matter later, Harry," said Dumbledore, holding up a hand as Harry opened his mouth to ask another question. "For now, please continue with your story."

So Harry finished by describing the duel with Voldemort, right up until the part where the wands connected. After that, he found, he couldn't go any further.

"What happened there, Dumbledore?" Sirius asked. "Why did the wands connect? And James… why did James and Lily come out of Voldemort's wand?" His voice was shaking.

"_Priori Incantatem_," Dumbledore said.

"The Reverse Spell effect?"

"Exactly. Harry's wand and Voldemort's wand share cores. Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix."

Harry wasn't listening, though; instead, the conversation had brought his mind back to another question. "Where's my wand?" he asked. "Did anybody get my wand?"

The looks on their faces were enough to tell him the whole story. "Oh, no," he groaned.

"Harry, I'm sorry," said Lupin. "I went back to look for it afterwards. I did everything I could think of, including a Summoning Charm. It's gone."

"I'll get you another one," said Sirius. "It was your wand or your life, Harry, and wands can be replaced. But you…"

Harry could barely hear him. His wand, lost? The phoenix-feather wand was his most important connection to the wizarding world, and he felt naked without it. It was as if one of his friends had died; replacing it was unthinkable.

Dumbledore, at least, seemed to sense the depth of his shock. He did not offer platitudes or speak of buying a replacement, but simply laid his hands briefly over Harry's, locking his gaze with those piercing light blue eyes.

For one wild moment Harry thought that Dumbledore would be able to solve everything, that he was about to pull Harry's wand out of his sleeve and reveal that he had had it all along. But in the end all Dumbledore said was, "Get some rest, Harry."

* * *

He had a steady stream of visitors over the course of the next few days. Sirius hardly ever left his side, and Lupin dropped by frequently, as did Dumbledore. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came to sit with him on a few occasions. Harry was more than a little surprised, however, when Professor McGonagall walked through the door.

"I need to have a word with you about final exams, Potter," she said. "It's likely you'll be here through the end of the school year and it's my duty as your Head of House to see that you are given appropriate make-up tests."

What with everything else that had been going on lately, Harry had completely forgotten about exams. He answered all of McGonagall's questions numbly, eventually agreeing to take the exams at the start of the next school year after he had gotten a new wand. When she left, nearly bumping into Lupin on her way out, it occurred to Harry to wonder why she hadn't simply sent an owl.

Then it occurred to him that, ever since he'd woken up here, he'd never once been left alone.

"Yeah, you're being watched," Sirius confirmed when Harry voiced these thoughts during his next visit. "No, listen," as Harry opened his mouth. "You're badly hurt, you don't have a wand, and by this point the entire wizarding world knows you're here. What exactly do you plan on doing if a few Death Eaters burst in here in the middle of the night?"

Harry, understanding the value of the argument even though he didn't want to admit it, settled for scowling and asked instead, "How much longer 'til the end of the school year, anyway? Hermione wrote me that she and Ron would visit just as soon as they could."

"It's only a few more days, now."

Sure enough, Ron and Hermione burst into his room a few days later.

"Harry! Oh Harry!" Hermione flew at him as if to hug him, but managed to restrain herself—a fact for which Harry was grateful; he was feeling a lot better now, but sudden movements still hurt.

"We've been real worried about you, mate. Hey, Remus." Lupin, who was sitting at Harry's bedside reading the _Daily Prophet_, gave Ron a cordial nod before returning his attention to the paper.

Harry motioned for them to sit down. "So what's been happening at Hogwarts?"

Hermione pulled up a chair. "Well, after you disappeared Dumbledore ordered us all back to our common rooms."

"We did get to come into his office first, though. We were there when he and Sirius and Remus and Professor Moody decided to go after you. Oh, and Snape was there too."

Harry started. "_Snape?_ Did he come after me as well?"

"Nah, he just told Dumbledore where they'd taken you."

"Well, Dumbledore had already figured it out, and Snape just confirmed his guess…"

"Confirmed it how?"

Ron looked uncomfortable. "Well, er… we thought someone would've told you by now, but you see, Snape is… er, was…"

"Severus Snape is a former Death Eater," said Lupin, folding the paper and joining the conversation for the first time. "He came over to our side shortly before the end of the first war."

Harry stared. "_Why?_ And how do you know he's not still—"

"That is a matter between Snape and Dumbledore." He re-opened the paper. "All I know is that Dumbledore trusts Severus, and I trust Dumbledore's judgment."

"Anyway," Ron continued, "Snape stalked off somewhere, and all the rest left through Dumbledore's Floo. Awhile later McGonagall came up and brought us back to Gryffindor Tower. She didn't say anything, just that Dumbledore was handling it and not to leave the Tower under any circumstances."

"It was a few hours before we learned anything else at all," said Hermione, picking up where Ron had left off. "We were all packed together in there, and it was _awful_—everyone was going on about what might be happening to you, and the longer we sat in there the worse it got. Eventually Professor McGonagall came back and told Ron and me that the headmaster wanted to see us.

"We had no idea what had happened, but from the look on her face we knew it had to be pretty bad. She took us up to Dumbledore's office and then he—he told us that You-Know-Who was back and they'd gotten you out of there but you'd been hurt, really badly, and that it was p-possible you m-m-might not make it…" Hermione let out a small sob and put her face in her hands.

Ron awkwardly put an arm around her shoulders and turned back to Harry. "Anyway, we waited in there for hours. Dumbledore talked to us a bit at first, but after that he didn't say much—he mostly just sat there writing letters and sending out messages. Then finally, sometime after midnight, Sirius popped into the fire and said it was a close thing, but you were going to be all right. She started bawling, of course…"

"Ron!" Hermione shrugged off his hand and gave him a shove. "Before Dumbledore let us go he said that we weren't to give anyone else details about what he'd told us, just that you were all right and that you were in a safe place. He also told us not to go asking you about what had happened until you were ready to tell us."

She paused, probably hoping that Harry would tell them what had happened on his own, but Ron, sensing his discomfort, started talking again.

"We stuck to Dumbledore's orders, all right, and didn't say anything else about what had happened, and boy did they pester us for details. Then at the Leaving Feast, Dumbledore stood up and told the whole school that You-Know-Who had returned, and that the Ministry didn't want him to tell us about it."

"What!"

"It's true, Harry," said Hermione, looking as serious as Harry had ever seen her. "We don't know all the details, but Dumbledore told all of this to the Minister of Magic and he… well, he didn't believe it…"

"I'm not too surprised about that," said Lupin, folding the paper again and setting it aside. "Cornelius Fudge has gotten the idea that Dumbledore wants to overthrow him and take over the Ministry."

"That's ridiculous!"

"It is that." Lupin smiled, but without much humor. "But you see, a lot of people wanted Dumbledore to run for Minister after Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge has never forgotten that, and he's gotten to the point where he enjoys power."

"It wasn't just Dumbledore, though," Harry said angrily. "All of you were there, you saw him—"

"Yes, we saw him. Let's see, who was there… Dumbledore—a power-hungry old meddler intent on usurping Fudge. Moody—a retired ex-Auror who's so paranoid he sees attackers in every shadow. Sirius—an escaped ex-convict who's spent so much time around dementors that it's addled his brain. I'm a werewolf, which is enough to put my word in doubt."

"_I_ was there!"

Lupin looked at him. "Yes, you were," he said softly. "But as far as Fudge is concerned, you're nothing more than an innocent boy who's been caught in the midst of a group of scheming adults. He thinks that Dumbledore has had far too much of an influence on you, and that the group of us has brainwashed you into believing our side of the story."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! How does he explain me disappearing in the middle of a Quidditch game, then?"

"Oh, I have no doubt that he's come up with some convoluted story in which your disappearance is somehow Dumbledore's doing, or Sirius's. Whatever it is that he's telling himself, I'm sure it makes perfect sense in _his_ mind." Lupin sighed. "Fudge's ability to delude himself aside, the real problem is that he doesn't _want_ to believe Voldemort's back, and as long as that's the case nothing will convince him save a personal appearance in the Ministry Atrium."

Harry groaned. "So what are we doing about it?"

"We'll discuss it, but not here."

He opened his mouth to protest but it was just as well, since at that moment the door creaked open again. Harry looked up eagerly, hoping for Sirius, but it wasn't his godfather who walked through the door. It was Cedric Diggory.

On seeing the number of people in the room he stopped uncertainly, holding one hand behind his back. His eyes went to Ron, who was glaring at him with unconcealed hostility, and to Hermione, who was none-too-subtly stomping Ron's foot. Lupin was the first to break the silence.

"Ah, Cedric, come in," he said pleasantly, conjuring a chair.

"Thanks, Professor, but I can only stay for a few minutes. I—I didn't think you'd remember me that well."

Lupin shook his head, smiling. "Really, Cedric, you were one of the best students in your year. You should give yourself more credit. But…" he frowned, looking from Cedric to Harry, "I didn't know you and Harry knew each other that well."

"Well, we don't really, it's just that… I just wanted to… Ah. Here." He pulled his hand from behind his back, and Ron gaped in disbelief: _he was holding Harry's Firebolt._

Stunned, Harry took it from him. After the loss of Harry's wand his broomstick had completely slipped his mind, but the truth was that he didn't want to lose it any more than he had wanted to lose his wand. The Firebolt had been his first gift from Sirius.

"I— well—" He closed his hand over the polished handle. "Thanks. Really, really, thanks." He laughed softly. "I guess you were the best after all." When Cedric looked puzzled, he prompted, "Um, you know? The Quidditch game? You won it, right?"

Cedric looked shocked. "I couldn't keep playing after you disappeared. What kind of a victory would that be?" Now it was Harry's turn to look puzzled; Cedric sighed. "I called off the game. No one is getting the Quidditch cup this year."

Harry gaped. Cedric had walked away from the kind of glory Hufflepuff House hadn't had in years—this had been his last chance to win the Quidditch cup. Harry was still trying to process this information as he numbly shook Cedric's hand and watched him walk out.

Just inside the door, however, Cedric turned back. "Is it true? That You-Know-Who… that You-Know-Who is back?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. It's true."

Cedric simply stood there for a moment, looking thoughtful. Then he sighed. "Thank you, Harry," he said, and left without a backward glance. Lupin watched him thoughtfully.

* * *

That evening Healer Smethwyck informed him (and Sirius and Lupin, who were sitting with him) that they were very close to finding an antidote to Nagini's venom, and that he would likely be able to go home in a few days. Harry was cheered by this news, but couldn't help but feel a little deflated at the thought of going back to the Dursleys.

"I'll come get you out of there just as soon as I can," Sirius said gruffly. "Two weeks, that's all. You won't be there a day longer, I promise."

"Sirius," said Lupin, "it's going to take us a long time to set up Headquarters. Given the state that the place is in…"

"I don't care," Sirius snarled. "Alder Cottage is as safe as we could make it. Harry," Sirius continued, turning back to him, "if the safe house isn't ready in two weeks, I'll come by and get you myself anyway. With or without Dumbledore's permission."

Harry stared at him. "Are you sure that that… that that's all right?"

Sirius snorted. "It'll be a lot easier to ask Dumbledore's forgiveness than to try and get his permission. I don't want you staying in that house any longer than is absolutely necessary." He turned back to Lupin. "Tell me you're with me on this, Remus."

Lupin let out a breath. "I still think you're going about this the wrong way. But it's not my decision to make, and…" He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at Harry. "Better the wrong way than nothing at all. So yes, I will help you. If it comes to that."

"Deal, then." They shook hands. "Harry?"

Harry hesitated for a moment. "I—"

"C'mon, Harry," Sirius prodded. "James would have been with me on this too, I know."

Harry swallowed. "Okay," he said. But there was a small twinge of guilt that he just couldn't shake.

* * *

Harry wanted to talk to Sirius some more, but over the next few days there was no sign of his godfather. Lupin, too, seemed to be staying away, and Harry asked about this when Mrs. Weasley came in to sit with him.

"They're doing work for Dumbledore, dear," she assured him, though Harry fancied that she wasn't quite meeting his eyes when she said it. "Now that You-Know-Who is back, all of us have to do what we can, and there are so few of us now who know the truth." She sighed.

"But isn't watching me a part of that?" Harry pressed. "I mean, Sirius is my godfather and he's the closest I've ever had to a parent, so wouldn't he be the best choice to stay with me?"

"Harry, you're as good as a son to me! Arthur, too."

"I didn't mean it that way," Harry said quickly, stung by the look of hurt in her eyes. "I just… I'd like to see Sirius again. Would you tell him that, the next time you see him?"

She frowned. "I'll try. But at the moment he's very busy."

Harry felt a jolt of fear go through him. Was Dumbledore keeping Sirius so busy because he had found out their plans? Might he have decided that Sirius wasn't a fit guardian after all, and to that Harry should be moved to Privet Drive permanently?

* * *

Though Mrs. Weasley assured Harry that she had kept her word, over the next few days there was still no sign of Sirius. Harry was getting worried, and had started asking about his godfather every time someone walked through the door. The answer was always the same: he was fine, but was busy and unable to visit. The lack of real answers began to put Harry quite out of temper; he was often irritable and had even snapped at his friends a couple of times.

In spite of his persistent absence, though, Harry had been sure that Sirius would be there on the day he was released. When Healer Smethwyck handed Harry a vial of foul-smelling brown potion and told him to drink it, though, the only people sitting at his bedside were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Harry held the vial in both hands and stared glumly down into it, somehow hoping that if he only waited another minute, Sirius would walk through the door.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to know what he was thinking. "Go on, dear," she said gently. "The sooner you're cured, the sooner you can go home."

Knowing that for the first few weeks of summer "home" would be Privet Drive rather than Alder Cottage did nothing to help his reluctance, but she was right: Harry had seen enough of St. Mungo's to last him a lifetime. He took a deep breath and downed the potion in one gulp.

The antidote worked: when the bandages came off this time the wounds no longer started gushing blood, and now that the venom had been neutralized Healer Smethwyck made short work of the bites. Harry sighed in relief as the pain subsided.

"All better now?" Smethwyck asked, smiling.

"Yes, thank you." Harry managed a weak smile of his own, but couldn't repress a hollow, empty feeling. Where was Sirius?

The Weasley parents walked him down to the lobby; Mr. Weasley informed him that their plan was to call the Knight Bus and accompany him to Privet Drive. Harry nodded automatically.

They had barely gotten into the lobby, however, when Lupin burst through the front door and came skidding up to them. He was white-faced and out of breath; his hands were shaking.

"Harry," he said, "I have some bad news."

* * *

**A/N:** Aaand that's the end of Year 4.

I'm also afraid that it's time for this story to go on another hiatus. (Author Lynching in 3... 2... 1...) I have no idea how long it will be; the only thing I can say for sure is that I have no intention of posting anything to the main story until after I've completed the qualifier, so there will definitely be no updates until sometime after August. After that... I still need to work on the plotline for Year 5, which is currently a tangled mess. So I can't say for sure when I'll be updating again.

Notes on the chapter:

Yay! I've been looking forward to that emotional waking-up scene ever since I first started writing!

I am ashamed to admit that using a piece of clothing as a Portkey and having it planted by a House Elf originally was a dumb mistake on my part. After I caught it, however, I decided to keep it, because there are several interesting directions I can take with Winky being set free and Voldemort not caring overly much because of his tendency to underestimate those he thinks of as lesser species. I also figured that a combination of the Imperius Curse (I don't recall seeing anything in canon to indicate it didn't work on House Elves) and something akin to Battered Wife Syndrome was sufficient to explain why Winky didn't just run the minute Crouch handed her the sock.

**Teufel1987:** I like the idea of anti-cliche weather, but unfortunately I also had a plot-related reason to want low lighting, namely that it's much harder for a giant black dog to sneak up on a group of people in broad daylight than it is when it's dark.

**Andraste Straton:** Yes, Nagini is dead. Deathy Hallows pretty firmly established that Avada Kedavra was sufficient to destroy a living Horcrux. I also suspect that this is one of the _only_ circumstances under which we will ever see Sirius use the Killing Curse.

Again on pairings: I am very definitely not a romance writer, so I'm pretty much going to let the characters take the lead on who gets paired with whom, and I'm not going to spend a lot of time on romantic subplots anyway. Right now I have few if any definite plans as to which pairings I want to include in this story, other than "as few as possible."

Till next time!


	17. YEAR5 In Limbo

**New Update Schedule:**

There will now be a new update on the first _full_ weekend of every month (so if the first day of the month happens to be a Sunday, expect an update the following weekend) through the end of Year 5. I'm not going to commit to a specific day, so "weekend" could mean anywhere from Friday afternoon to 11:59 pm Sunday night. My New Year's Resolution for this story was 100 words a day minimum through the end of Year 5, so that's a schedule I ought to be able to stick to.

On another scheduling note, there will be another hiatus after fifth year. (Since right now fifth year is looking like 15 chapters minimum, though, that's a ways off.) I just find it easier to write this way, since having the time to build up a good buffer takes off a lot of the stress, and I want this to be something I do for fun rather than just another chore. Besides, let's face it, you had to wait a lot longer than this for the official books to come out, and Rowling was getting paid :). (As stated in multiple disclaimers, I'm not making a penny.)

That said, on to the story.

* * *

Harry lay under the covers of his bed, flashlight in hand. Dudley had been snoring for the last half hour, but he wanted to wait a little longer just to be sure.

Turning on the flashlight, he pointed it at his watch. It had only been five minutes since the last time he'd checked. Harry let out a quiet groan.

If things had gone as planned he'd have been at Alder Cottage with Sirius by now, but they were three weeks into summer and he was still stuck here at Privet Drive. The Dursleys, who thought they'd have been well rid of him by this point, were even less happy about this than Harry was.

Remus hadn't told him in much detail about the situation that had arisen, only that the Ministry had decided to act on the accusations of abuse that Rita Skeeter had been dreaming up for the past year, and that Harry and Sirius wouldn't be allowed any contact prior to a custody hearing. The date had not yet been set.

Of course, Harry knew that that was only their cover story. What Fudge really wanted, as Remus had explained, was to keep Harry away from the "bad influences"—namely Dumbledore and Sirius—who'd "brainwashed" him into believing Voldemort was back.

Harry felt a fresh surge of anger at the thought of Fudge's stupidity. Thanks to the Minister's refusal to believe Harry's story of his ordeal at the end of the previous school year, Sirius was facing Azkaban again and Harry's life was back to being a living hell.

Not to mention that the second rise of the darkest wizard in magical history had gone completely unacknowledged.

Shining the flashlight onto his watch once again, Harry thought glumly of his bitter homecoming after being released from St. Mungo's.

_When the Knight Bus dropped them off at Privet Drive at the beginning of the summer, Remus stopped him as he was heaving his trunk onto the walk and asked for a word. Harry, though puzzled, nodded, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stepped back to a polite distance, though still well within sight._

_ "Harry," he said, "I—" Remus looked away then, closing his eyes as if fighting down some powerful emotion. After a few deep breaths, he looked at Harry again, and his dark eyes were filled with regret._

_ "I wish none of this had happened, and I can't pretend to know how it will turn out." He shook his head. "It's an injustice and I'd like to say that it will be dismissed like the fiasco it is, but…"_

_ Harry nodded. He was all too familiar with the Ministry's brand of "justice."_

_ "I can't tell you that everything will be all right. I will tell you this, though: whatever happens in the next few weeks, I'm not going to let you be stuck here permanently. Even if they rule against Sirius, I'll come and get you out of here myself."_

_ Harry's head shot up. "But I thought you said that you can't—"_

_ "No," he said softly. "I can't. But that doesn't mean I can't look out for you." Harry noticed that his jaw was set firmly, and there was a glint of steel behind the compassion in his eyes. "I've already talked to Molly and Arthur. They would both be happy to take you in, if Sirius…"_

_ He wasn't able to go on, though, and Harry, opening his mouth, found that whatever he had wanted to say seemed to have gotten stuck in his throat. So they simply stood there looking at each other, maybe for a minute, maybe for much longer. In the end Remus simply laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, tightening his fingers briefly before turning away._

Harry looked at his watch. A full ten minutes had passed this time.

These last few weeks at Privet Drive he'd been completely cut off from the wizarding world, but at first he'd managed to keep track of the state of affairs by writing Sirius. According to his godfather Dumbledore was pushing the Ministry to set a date for the hearing, but Dumbledore's influence at the Ministry had waned a great deal since he had told Fudge the truth about Voldemort's return.

That was pretty much all he'd managed to find out by exchanging letters, since only a week into the summer Hedwig had returned from Alder Cottage with empty claws, favoring one wing that had several feathers sticking out the wrong way. Unable to do anything for her, Harry had scrawled a quick note and sent her on to The Burrow, hoping that Mrs. Weasley would be able to help. The next night Pigwidgeon had arrived with a note from Mr. Weasley telling him that his owl would be all right, but that his post was being monitored and that he shouldn't try to contact Sirius again.

So Harry had seethed, and avoided his relatives, and taken out Sirius's mirror whenever he'd had an opportunity to talk with his godfather without being overheard. So far, those times had been few: the Dursleys were always on the lookout for any "unnaturalness," and if any of the neighbors heard him talking to himself the game was up. What's more, now that Dudley was running in a gang he had taken to sneaking out in the middle of the night, and Harry could never predict when he might be in a position to overhear.

This time, however, it looked as if Dudley was going to sleep through the night. A final quick glance at his watch confirmed that finally, enough time had passed: once Dudley had been snoring for a full hour, he was unlikely to wake until morning.

Harry set up the flashlight to illuminate the tent he had made of his sheets, making sure that they were firmly tucked in; it wouldn't do for one of the neighbors to see the light through his window at one in the morning. He reached gingerly under his mattress and pulled out the mirror.

"Sirius."

For a second Harry only saw his own face in the mirror, looking ghostly and pale in the faint light, before the image blurred and condensed again to show a very different scene.

Sirius was sitting at the small table at Alder Cottage (Harry felt a pang of homesickness at the sight of his house), his head resting on his forearms. He appeared to have fallen asleep with the mirror propped up on the table.

"Sirius. _Sirius!_" Harry hissed. He didn't dare raise his voice for fear of waking the Dursleys; unfortunately, it didn't seem like his soft whispers would wake Sirius either.

Luckily, there was someone else in the house who did hear him. While Harry was still desperately whispering Remus crossed the room, holding a steaming mug. As he passed the table he glanced at the mirror, saw Harry's face, and hurried over.

"Sirius. Hey, Padfoot." Remus placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder and shook him gently; he woke with a start. Remus pointed at the mirror.

"Harry!" Sirius smiled and pulled the mirror toward him. "Fell asleep… I've been hoping you'd call…"

"Sorry," Harry whispered. "I had to be sure that the Dursleys were really asleep."

Sirius waved his apology away. "Never mind that. How have you been?"

"The summer's been lousy, like I told you last time. What about Voldemort? What's he been doing?"

Remus sat down next to Sirius with a faint smile. "Like _we_ told _you_ last time, he's been lying low. We don't know of any mysterious deaths or disappearances, and we can't give you more detail than that in your current location."

Harry sighed. "Fine. The hearing, then."

Sirius ran a hand through his hair; it was much more mussed and unkempt than when they'd parted, Harry noted. "The Ministry still hasn't set a date for the hearing, but we've been making progress. It's getting to the point now where they'll legally either have to charge me or drop it."

"Since when has the Ministry cared about legal requirements?" Harry demanded, causing them both to burst out laughing.

"Not so loud!" he hissed, straining his ears for any sounds from beyond his room. "You might wake the Dursleys!"

"S-sorry," said Sirius, wiping his streaming eyes. "It's just… you sounded so much like James right there…"

At that moment Dudley snorted uneasily in his sleep. "I have to go!" Harry whispered. "I'll talk to you later, okay?" The mirror went dark before he heard Sirius's reply.

* * *

The next morning Harry realized that as careful as he'd been, the Dursleys must have somehow realized that he was using magical items in their house.

It started at breakfast. When Harry entered the kitchen and sat down next to Dudley, his cousin lurched away from him so fast that his chair nearly toppled over. Immediately Uncle Vernon started yelling at Harry, his face purpling, but it was Aunt Petunia's reaction that shocked him the most.

She was in the kitchen at the time, and turned at the sound of the commotion. When her gaze came to rest on Harry, her eyes filled with a look of such bitter loathing that it took all of his effort not to flinch away from her glare.

Upon his return to Privet Drive Harry's relations with the Dursleys had taken a sharp turn downhill, and it hadn't taken him long to find out why. Sirius's shouting match with Uncle Vernon on the doorstep of Number Four had not escaped the notice of the neighbors, and it hadn't been long before everyone was gossiping about why the dark, handsome stranger should have any quarrel with Petunia's husband.

None of the rumors had been kind to her.

From what Harry had managed to gather since, she had lost many of her friends and been the sole subject of neighborhood gossip for months on end. He had even heard occasional snatches of talk about moving somewhere no one knew them. Harry, little though he cared for his aunt, couldn't help but feel just a bit sorry for her when he'd learned of all she had been through in the past year.

Of course, he had also realized that this would only make his life that much harder. Harry had known that things would be bad when he had returned to Privet Drive to find that Aunt Petunia wouldn't even look at him, let alone speak to him. He didn't realize how bad, however, until Uncle Vernon burst into his room later that afternoon.

"You—boy!" he snapped, his face turning a shade of purple that seemed to be reserved especially for Harry. He was brandishing a sheet of paper.

"Your aunt and I have put up with your freeloading long enough," his uncle continued, sending flecks of spit onto Harry's face. "I don't work all day long—good, honest work, mind—so you can sit there in the clothes we've put onto your ungrateful back, lazing around like the good-for-nothing bum that you are. It's high time you started earning your keep."

While Harry was still gaping at him (since when had he _not_ cooked and cleaned and gardened for the entire household?), Vernon shoved the piece of paper under his nose. There were figures scribbled all over it.

"That's what it costs to keep you, boy," he said, jabbing a pudgy finger into the piece of paper to point at what Harry now saw was some kind of total. Studying the paper more closely, he noticed other columns labeled _food_, _water_, _clothing_, and the like, with various monetary values written below each.

"If you want to continue living under this roof," his uncle continued, his piggy eyes fixed firmly on Harry's face, "you'd damn well better start earning it. This—" he jabbed a finger at the paper again, "—is your hourly wage, and that's _if_ you've done the work properly, boy! You'll start tomorrow." He stormed out of the room before Harry could even protest.

The wage Uncle Vernon had specified was far lower than Harry thought was legal (not, Harry thought bitterly, that anyone would care if he complained), and after a few minutes with pencil and paper he managed to figure out approximately how much he'd have to work in order to "earn his keep."

It came out to about twelve hours a day, maybe a bit shorter if he gave up bathing altogether, and that only if he was lucky. All that work would get him the minimal rations the Dursleys usually allowed him, whatever clothes Dudley decided he didn't want anymore, and a few other very basic necessities.

The way Harry saw it, though, he didn't have any choice. He was aware now more than ever that Aunt Petunia had to be willing to let him stay if he wanted to keep the blood wards intact, and she seemed less inclined to do that with each passing day.

He didn't tell Sirius. His godfather couldn't do anything anyway, and the way Harry saw it any more threats against the Dursleys would only make things worse for him.

* * *

True to Harry's predictions, the Dursleys made him do whatever hard, menial chores they could think of, most of them outside. By the end of the first day he was severely sunburned, and had blisters all over his hands. After the second there were blisters on the back of his neck as well, and his hands had started to bleed.

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for Dudley to sit outside and laugh at him, or for Uncle Vernon to come out to berate him, often causing him to make mistakes—which, Harry reflected, was probably his goal in the first place. It was Aunt Petunia's behavior, though, that unnerved him the most. Oftentimes she would walk by and simply _glare_ at him with that same bitter loathing in her eyes. A couple of times he even felt a hard object hit his shoulder or back only seconds before he heard his aunt's retreating footsteps.

For the most part, however, it was too hot outside for the Dursleys' liking, and they retreated into the house after only a few minutes' worth of taunts. This suited Harry just fine—he could concentrate on what he was doing, and it gave him time to think. When he wasn't worrying about the upcoming hearing, he worried about Voldemort.

Though the _Daily Prophet_ was proving to be quite useless and he no longer had the time or energy to walk around nicking papers from rubbish bins, he did manage to hear the occasional snatch of news as he worked under the window to the Dursleys' living room. So far he had heard nothing out of the ordinary. Remus had told him that there had been no mysterious deaths or disappearances. What, then, was Voldemort doing?

Harry's scar suddenly seared with pain and he clapped a hand to his forehead, dropping his spade into the flowerbed where he'd been digging. The action left a smear of dirt on his forehead, but he didn't even notice. Slowly, the pain subsided and Harry lowered his hand, breathing a sigh of relief.

His scar had been hurting whenever Voldemort was angry. But what could have happened to make Voldemort angry _now?_

* * *

That evening he was too tired to do anything but collapse straight onto his bed. Every time he managed to drift off, however, his scar would start prickling, jolting him awake. Eventually he reached an equilibrium of sorts, a vague trance in which he was half asleep and half awake. He barely registered when Uncle Vernon came into his room and snapped at him for a few minutes before slamming the door and locking it.

Harry must have managed to fall asleep eventually, though, for he was awoken suddenly by a crash from downstairs. Immediately he was on his feet and alert, groping for his wand—but it wasn't there. His wand, he belatedly remembered, had disappeared after the fight in the graveyard, and now he was completely defenseless.

He crept to his bedroom door and pressed an ear against it. There were definitely noises coming from downstairs—and muffled voices too, from the sound of it. Harry's heart started to beat faster.

Aware though he was that the blood wards ought to protect him from any magical intruders, he still had to fight down a surge of panic. What if the wards had failed? What if Voldemort's followers had somehow managed to sneak past them? Even if the intruders were Muggles, he wasn't much better off: Harry had always been rubbish at Muggle fighting.

Harry's eyes darted toward his bedroom window. Would he be able to get down to the street without hurting himself? Without attracting the attention of whoever was downstairs?

The decision was made for him, however, when the lock on his bedroom door clicked. Harry stood facing the door, hands balled into fists, as it swung open.

He couldn't suppress a sigh of relief when Remus stepped in, holding a lighted wand aloft.

The advance guard had arrived.

* * *

**A/N:**

I decided to put Sirius's Tall, Dark & Handsome status to plot-related use, as well as the Dursleys' fears concerning The Neighbors.

I also decided that this would be a good point for Harry and Remus to truly get on a first-name basis. Though Harry's been calling Remus by his first name for awhile, he was always still "Professor Lupin" in his head. I wanted to portray this as the actual point where it really hits Harry that they've gotten closer than just teacher and student - thus the transition to thinking of him as "Remus."

I had a lot of internal debate with myself as to how far to push the antagonistic relationship between Harry and the Dursleys in this chapter. The fact that the Dursleys are abusive is something that I definitely want to address but, for reasons that I'll explain in later chapters, I decided not to push things too far past what we saw in canon.

On the subject of Portkeys (since a few of you asked me): from what I've been able to gather from canon, there are two different types of Portkeys. One type activates at a predetermined time (the Quidditch World Cup, the Portkeys to The Burrow in Deathly Hallows); the other type activates upon contact (the Triwizard Cup). Harry's sock in previous chapters was one of the former.


	18. YEAR5 Twenty Questions

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is not mine, and I'm running out of creative ways to say it's not mine.

* * *

When they shook hands at 4 Privet Drive, Harry had noticed Remus frowning slightly. Now, inside the hallway of 12 Grimmauld Place, he suddenly grasped Harry's hands. Before Harry could even open his mouth to protest, Remus had gently but firmly turned his wrists so that his palms were facing upward, and every callus and blister he had picked up during the weeks of working was clearly visible even in the faint light of the hall. A frown appeared between Remus's eyebrows.

"Hey!" Harry snatched his hands back.

"They're at it again." It wasn't a question. "You're sunburned all over, too."

"It was nothing I couldn't deal with."

"Harry—"

At that moment, however, Mrs. Weasley came running up to them. Remus sighed slightly and let himself be swept into the meeting, but gave Harry a look that said this conversation wasn't over.

Harry made sure his hands were tucked firmly into his pockets before entering the room he was sharing with Ron.

* * *

After dinner that night, there was a knock on the door. Ron, who had been about to lock it to keep Kreacher out, opened it. Remus was standing outside on the landing. "I'd like a word with Harry."

Harry, afraid that Remus would try to talk about the Dursleys again, did not look up as he entered the room, but continued to shift things around in his trunk even though he knew he'd already got everything he needed.

"Should I go?" Ron asked.

"That's up to Harry." Harry's heart started to beat faster.

"First of all," said Remus, ignoring that fact that Harry was not looking at him, "I wanted to tell you that the Ministry's finally set the hearing for August twelfth." He paused as if expecting an answer, but Harry merely nodded in reply and continued to rifle through his things. "Also, I know that nobody has really filled you in yet about what Voldemort's been doing." Harry's head shot up.

Remus smiled ironically, as if he knew exactly what Harry had been thinking. "It's true that there was no safe way to get you information over the summer, but now that you're living at Headquarters Dumbledore accepts that you'll have to be filled in to a certain extent. I can't tell you everything, mind, but I can give you—and Ron and Hermione, if you like—a general picture."

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry said at once. His eyes met Ron's across the room. "And… Ron and Hermione, too."

Ron beamed at him. "I'll go get Hermione, then." He made for the door.

"No!" Harry, not wanting to be left alone in case Remus started trying to talk about the Dursleys again, jumped up from the bed, and Ron gave him a puzzled look. "It's just—she's rooming with Ginny, right? And Ginny'll throw a fit if she finds out Hermione's being told and she's not…"

Ron's face paled. "You've got a point, mate." He backed away from the door. "We'll tell Hermione in the morning, then?"

Harry nodded. "Definitely."

"All right then." Remus sat down on Ron's bed and gestured for Harry and Ron to sit across from him. "What would you like to know?"

"Where's Voldemort? What's he been doing?" Harry asked at once, ignoring a lurch from Ron that was so violent it set the bed shaking. "You told me earlier that you didn't know of any deaths or disappearances—why's he stopped killing people, then?"

"He doesn't want to draw attention to himself," Remus explained. "It would be dangerous for him—Fudge may not believe he's back, but Dumbledore's been putting out the word, and it won't take much at this point for the rest of the wizarding world to come around."

"So what is he doing, then?"

"Among other things, he wants to build up his army again. Right now he's only got a dozen Death Eaters or so—aside from more human followers, he'll also be after the giants, the werewolves, and any number of other Dark creatures he can recruit to his side."

"But if Voldemort's trying to recruit more Death Eaters, it's bound to get out that he's back, isn't it?" asked Harry desperately.

"Voldemort doesn't do these sorts of things openly, Harry," Remus said gently. "He tricks, jinxes, and blackmails—he's well-practiced at operating in secrecy. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he's interested in. At the moment, he seems to be concentrating on his other plans."

"Which are?" Harry asked expectantly.

For the first time, Remus hesitated, and Harry had the sinking suspicion that he'd reached the limit of what Dumbledore had given him permission to reveal.

"For one thing," Remus said slowly, "he's after information—and no, I can't tell you what kind. And—" Again, there was that hesitation. "We also think that Voldemort is trying to replace his snake. The one that Sirius killed in the graveyard," he added when Ron looked puzzled.

"Nagini?" Harry asked, surprised. He knew that the snake had been Voldemort's pet, but she didn't seem nearly as important as, say, gathering enough giants to storm the Ministry. "What's so important about her?"

Remus sighed. "Voldemort has—uses—for her venom. You told us yourself that he subsisted on it before regaining a human form, and that it was a key component in the ritual that brought him back to life. Even now that he's regained his body, he still has uses for such a potent ingredient. I won't tell you what they are—you're probably better off not knowing."

"So where is he getting a replacement?" Harry asked. In spite of himself, he was quite curious—Nagini was the only snake of her kind he had ever seen.

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, for Remus nodded with a small smile. "Whatever it is you're thinking, you're probably right. This—Nagini?—isn't the type of snake you could find in the Magical Menagerie, or even in one of the shadier shops in Knockturn Alley. Do you remember how a basilisk is born, Harry?" he asked, sounding much like he had teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"A cock's egg," Harry replied, "hatched beneath a toad." He wouldn't be forgetting _that_ anytime soon.

Remus nodded, looking pleased. "Full marks as always, Harry."

"But what does that have to do with—"

Remus held up a hand. "I'm getting to that. My point is that a basilisk cannot be _bred_. It has to be _made_, and the circumstances of its birth are so unlikely in nature that it must be made by human hands. Such is the case with many powerful magical creatures —including, we suspect, the snake Nagini."

"So how is—I mean, how does he…?" Ron started, but Remus shook his head.

"I'm afraid that I can't tell you any more than that—not only because we've reached the limit of what you need to know, but because there's a limited amount we know ourselves. Also, it's high time that both of you got to bed."

Ignoring their protests, Remus got up and strode from the room, but just inside the doorway he stopped and looked back. "And Harry—I'll be wanting to talk to you later, as well." He shut the door before Harry could reply.

"What was that about?" Ron asked. He was looking from Harry to the doorway with a puzzled expression.

"Nothing," Harry lied, making a show of getting up and locking the door so he wouldn't have to look Ron in the face. "Let's get to sleep."

* * *

Harry spent the better part of the next few days avoiding Remus. It was easier than he would have thought: very few members of the Order stayed in Grimmauld Place full-time, and even when Remus did come around there were always multiple other people there as well. Every time Remus showed signs of wanting to talk to him alone, Harry managed to make an excuse to be somewhere else—somewhere in the company of many other people.

Though he felt bad about treating Remus the way he was, he was also irked that his former professor kept feeling the need to bring the subject up. He had, after all, already lived with the Dursleys for nearly fourteen years. It wasn't as if he had never dealt with this before, and it wasn't as if anything Remus said or did could get him out of Privet Drive permanently, or make the Dursleys treat him any better. Sirius had tried that already, and it hadn't worked.

Unfortunately, it seemed as if Remus hadn't stopped at trying to talk to Harry. He was on his way from the drawing room with a bucket full of unconscious doxies when he nearly tripped over Fred and George, who were crouched at the bottom of the stairs next to the kitchen door.

"What the—"

"_Quiet!_" Fred hissed, yanking him down beside them and putting a finger to his lips.

"Lupin and Dumbledore just went in there," George explained in a whisper. "We don't know what they're talking about, but Lupin looked _livid_."

Harry, pressing his ear to the door along with the twins, heard voices that he indeed recognized as belonging to Remus and Dumbledore. However, they were talking too quietly for him to hear what the conversation was—

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THAT THEY DID!" Remus exploded, so loudly that Harry jumped back, crashing into George and upsetting the bucket of doxies. "_YOU'RE_ THE ONE WHO PUT HIM THERE, AND IT WAS _YOUR_ RESPONSIBILITY TO SEE THAT HE WAS LOOKED AFTER!"

"I put him there to keep him alive." Dumbledore was not shouting, but his voice was sharp and clipped and as cold as Harry had ever heard it. It carried through the thick wood of the door as if he were standing right next to them.

"_WELL IT'S TOO BAD THAT THE PEOPLE YOU TRUSTED DON'T SEEM TO SHARE YOUR PRIORITIES!_"

"Ahem." Harry looked up. So did Fred and George. Mrs. Weasley was standing at the top of the stairs. "And what do you three think you're doing?"

Harry hastily righted the bucket and started throwing doxies back in, deliberately making enough noise to drown out Dumbledore's response. George coughed and mumbled something vague about coming down here for a snack. Fred, however, was on his feet, arms crossed, glaring up at his mother.

"We were eavesdropping."

Harry looked back up, the doxie in his hand completely forgotten. George was staring at his twin with something like disbelief written all over his face. Mrs. Weasley had gone completely still.

"What did you say to me, young man?" Remus was shouting again, but this time no one paid the slightest attention.

"I said we were eavesdropping." Fred casually brushed off the front of his shirt. "It's not that hard to understand, is it?"

"This," she said, her voice cold with fury, "is why you two will never find suitable careers. Instead of doing anything useful, you spend your days listening at doors—"

"You don't want us to do something suitable for us, you want us to do something suitable for _you_!" Fred exploded. "All this time you've been pushing us to work at the Ministry, work at the Ministry, you don't care that the Ministry's a load of bollocks, you don't care that we'd be miserable there, just as long as we do what _you_ want us to do—"

"I WANT MY SONS TO HAVE DECENT CAREERS AND BE ABLE TO SUPPORT THEMSELVES, NOT LIVE OFF OF US SO THEY CAN SPEND THE REST OF THEIR ADULT LIVES PULLING PRANKS! ALL OF YOUR OLDER BROTHERS FOUND GOOD JOBS, AND IF YOU THINK THAT YOU'RE EXEMPT FROM THAT—"

"AND JUST LOOK AT HOW THAT TURNED OUT!" Fred said hotly, cutting her off. "MAYBE IF YOU HADN'T COMPLETELY SMOTHERED US, PERCY WOULD'VE STUCK AROUND—"

The silence that followed rang in Harry's ears; even Remus's shouting seemed to be muted and far away. Fred swallowed; he seemed to have realized that he had gone too far. Mrs. Weasley's face had gone chalk-white.

"Go to your rooms," she said; her voice was shaking. "All of you. _Now!_"

Harry scrambled to obey. The last he saw of the scene was Fred turning, slowly, and walking unhurriedly up the stairs.

* * *

Harry hardly ever saw the twins in the company of their parents for the next few days. As a matter of fact, Fred and George seemed to be avoiding everyone; even when they did put in an appearance, they were surly and spoke little.

As for Mrs. Weasley, she was unusually quiet. Far from her usual directing of the cleaning process, whenever Harry saw her now she was staring aimlessly into the distance.

The tension in Grimmauld place was becoming unbearable. Far from relief that he was now out of 4 Privet Drive, Harry was now under constant stress. As the date of the hearing grew nearer and nearer, he found himself pacing rooms anxiously, staring at nothing for hours on end, and trying to sit down only to jump right back up and start pacing again. His friends kept shooting him furtive looks, but there was nothing they could say to make him feel better and everyone knew it.

Finally, the night before the hearing was upon them. Harry spent the day in a kind of daze, and went to bed with a sense of impending doom hanging over his head.

* * *

_That night, Harry slept badly. First he dreamed he was back at Privet Drive, and that he had messed up again with his chores._

_ "Stupid, worthless half-breed!" Aunt Petunia was screaming. "Everything was supposed to be perfect for Dudders's birthday, and you've ruined everything! Monster! Freak! Shame of my flesh!"_

_ "It's not my fault!" Harry yelled back. "I told Kreacher to weed the garden but he had to go hunt Mudbloods!"_

_ "I'm tired of your excuses, Potter." Snape was now standing in Aunt Petunia's place, his black eyes flashing with malice. "You can stay in there while you think about what you've done wrong."_

_ "Don't!" Harry yelled, but Snape had already grabbed the scruff of his neck and thrown him into his cupboard under the stairs. Harry banged on the door but there was no answer. There was a noise behind him. He turned. Nagini was there, her tongue flicking in and out of her mouth. She reared her head to strike…_

_ Harry threw his arms over his head, but the blow never came. Cautiously, he lowered his hands, and immediately wondered what he had been doing. Of course he didn't need to worry; Nagini was dead._

_ He turned. Barty Crouch Jr. was walking toward him, a bowl of dark red liquid in his hands. "Master… the first batch is ready," he breathed._

_ "Excellent," Harry said in a high, cold voice. "Prepare it as I have instructed."_

_ "Yes, Master." Crouch bowed before hurrying off._

Harry awoke with his scar burning and a feeling of excitement pounding in his chest. It took him a few minutes to realize where and who he was, and as soon as he did he started to panic. He'd had another dream. He had thrown off his covers and started to dash to the door to get Sirius when he remembered that he was in 12 Grimmauld Place and that he might never be allowed to see Sirius again.

Ron gave a loud snore. Harry sank down against the foot of his bed, head in his hands. He might never be allowed to see Sirius again.

* * *

**A/N:** The shit. Has hit. The fan. In more ways than one.

This was a chapter that I went back and added retroactively; it wasn't in the original draft. Its main theme turned out to be internal conflict; there are fissures appearing all over: in the Order, in the Weasley family, and, of course, in the wizarding world as a whole.

The Dursleys: I've read (and enjoyed, I admit) many, many HP fanfics that take the Dursleys' abuse way beyond anything that ever happened in canon (we know that Harry was overworked, underfed, and never shown any affection at all, and we know for sure that Vernon hit him, but the _degree_ is something that is constantly overdone). While I was writing the first draft it ran the gamut from Harry being barely physically affected at all, all the way up to him collapsing from heatstroke and having to be rushed to Grimmauld Place. There are two main reasons I settled on doing something in between, one of which is simply that I wanted to do something different from what everybody else was doing. The other, more important reason is that I'm trying to make a somewhat subtler point: that _it needn't require hospitalization to count as abuse_. There are a _lot_ of things in the original books that were sort of glossed over, but that become truly horrifying once you read between the lines. This is one of them. Did no one care that Harry nearly starved to death one summer? Or that his uncle once tried to strangle him in broad daylight? It's not exactly as if anyone tried to hide any of this either; Mrs. Figg, the Weasley family, and Dumbledore were all in a position to act, and yet _they never did_. Whether they never figured things out from the information they had, or they simply didn't care, the implications are horrifying either way.

Remus: I really, really enjoy writing Angry Remus, probably because it's something we hardly ever see. But when Remus gets angry, he _gets angry_. The revealing information scene wasn't nearly as tense, though, because Sirius wasn't there, and unlike Sirius, Remus would have the sense not to bring it up in front of Mrs. Weasley.

Fred's behavior: In canon, Harry forced Fred and George to take the gold he won from the Triwizard Tournament. This financial backing was exactly what they needed to get their business off the ground, and they knew they could do what they wanted with or without their mother's blessing. In this story, however, there was no Triwizard Tournament. Fred and George really did lose their entire savings to Bagman's cheating, so they don't have that outlet anymore. Now, if they want to have any chance at all of starting that joke shop, they will have to build up their savings again slowly, painfully, and completely from scratch. There is going to be some tension.

Title of next chapter: "The Hearing" (obviously)


	19. Year5 The Hearing

**Disclaimer:** There is one named character in this chapter who belongs to me. All the rest, however, are the exclusive property of J. K. Rowling.

* * *

"They'll be questioning you and Sirius separately," Mr. Weasley informed Harry the next morning as he tried to choke down some breakfast. "The Ministry has kept you from talking to each other so you can't get your stories straight." He paused, looking at Harry as if expecting a response, but Harry remained silent; it was all he could do just to draw breath. "I haven't gotten any word on who'll be questioning you yet, but your hearing will be on my floor."

"It's important that you be honest," Remus added. "Whatever they ask about how Sirius treats you, focus on the good points but don't try to sugar-coat any of the bad ones. It'll look bad if it seems like you're trying too hard." Harry nodded numbly.

Mr. Weasley looked at Harry again, saw that he wasn't going to eat any more, and got up from the table. "I think we'll go now," he said. "We'll be a bit early, but I think you'll be better off there than hanging around here."

"Harry," said Mrs. Weasley as he turned to go. She leaned in close so that only Harry could hear her. "Whatever happens, Arthur and I will see to it that you're not sent back to those Muggles. You're welcome at the Burrow any time."

Harry tried to reply, but his throat had tightened so much he couldn't speak. Mrs. Weasley seemed to understand.

"Good luck, then, dear," she said, patting him on the shoulder before they left.

* * *

_If they don't send Sirius back to Azkaban, I'll put in ten Galleons_, Harry thought desperately as he read the sign beside the Fountain of Magical Brethren. When Mr. Weasley beckoned him over to the security desk, however, the fountain was driven straight out of his mind when he looked up and saw Sirius pacing restlessly back and forth on the other side of the gates.

Mr. Weasley hadn't seen; he was talking to the wizard behind the desk. "I'm escorting a visitor."

As the wizard ran a golden rod up and down Harry's body he watched Sirius pace, turn, pace, turn on the other side of the gates. He had obviously made an effort to look presentable; his hair was combed and tied back neatly, and his robes looked brand-new. However, those same robes also billowed out menacingly behind him as he forcibly paced the length of the lobby, and his eyebrows were knitted in a stormy glower that made passerby give him a wide berth.

"Wand," the security wizard grunted, holding out his hand.

"I'm not carrying it," Harry said impatiently. Sirius had paused in making the turn, and was now looking straight at him. Their eyes met across the Atrium, and Sirius made a motion as if to start forward.

Unfortunately, the security wizard saw where he was looking. His eyes darted from Sirius to Harry's badge to Harry's forehead, and all at once comprehension dawned on his face. He drew his wand.

Sirius froze. The security wizard seemed to have somehow alerted the rest of the staff, for now there was a blue-clad witch and wizard striding purposefully across the Atrium towards Sirius. They didn't seem ready to start throwing curses, but both had their wands out.

Harry felt Mr. Weasley's hand come to rest on his shoulder. He couldn't help it: he reached up and grasped Mr. Weasley's fingers in return, all the while keeping his eyes on Sirius. _Don't do anything stupid_, he thought. _Please, Sirius, don't do anything stupid don't do anything stupid don't do anything stupid…_

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to come with me." The security witch did not speak unkindly, but her tone was one that brooked no argument. For a second Sirius looked as if he might resist—_Don't do it!_ Harry thought wildly—but then allowed the witch to lead him away, shooting one look back at Harry as he went.

Harry let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding, feeling Mr. Weasley relax his grip on his shoulder at the same time. The security wizard waved them through the gate.

He spent the next half-hour in Mr. Weasley's office, staring at the walls and listening with half an ear to the discussion on regurgitating toilets. Finally, though, Mr. Weasley looked at his watch and stood.

"I've got to take Harry to his hearing, Perkins, I won't be gone long…"

Perkins nodded absently as he continued to sift through paperwork.

Harry followed Mr. Weasley down the hallway of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, his heart pounding in his chest. His legs were wobbly, and he found it hard to keep up with Mr. Weasley's stride.

Finally, though, they halted outside of a plain-looking door bearing a plaque that read _Wizarding Family Services_. "Well, this is it," said Mr. Weasley. He raised his hand and knocked.

"Come in," said a cold, oily voice from behind the door. Harry suppressed a shudder.

Mr. Weasley, who seemed to have noticed, gave him an encouraging smile. "I'll be right outside, Harry," he said. "Good luck."

Harry tried to smile back, but it probably came out as more of a grimace. Thinking that it was best not to put it off any longer, he opened the door.

The room was hardly larger than a broom closet and had a plain, disused look about it. The only furnishings were a battered table that sported three equally battered-looking chairs, the farthest of which was occupied by the man who must have invited Harry in.

Though the oily quality of his voice had led Harry to expect a small, greasy-haired toad, the man who sat on the opposite side of the table was in fact quite handsome. He was tall and lean but by no means delicate, his chestnut hair and beard so meticulously cared for that they almost shone. Even though the man gave him a big smile when he entered, Harry felt immediately mistrustful of him.

"Ah yes, Harry Potter," the man said, still smiling. "Come in, sit down." Harry sat.

"Are you comfortable, Harry?" Harry started at the presumptuous use of his given name by someone he had only just met, but the man was still talking. "Would you like anything to drink? Pumpkin juice? Tea?"

"N-nothing, thank you."

"A sweet, then? I have some cauldron cakes, and a few chocolate frogs as well." Harry shook his head.

The man looked disappointed, but plastered the smile back on his face and set a white quill atop the blank piece of parchment that Harry only just realized was sitting in front of him. "Well then, we may as well begin. Custody hearing of the twelfth of August." The quill copied his words onto the parchment as he spoke. "Interviewer: Iago Redmund Kinder, of the Department of Child Welfare," he continued, pronouncing his last name so that it rhymed with "tinder." A frown appeared briefly between his eyebrows and he paused, tapping the quill with his wand before he turned once again to Harry.

"Before we get started, Harry, I want you to know that you are not in trouble." The quill, Harry noticed, had stopped moving. "You haven't done anything wrong, and I won't think less of you if you are scared or angry. Being put in a bad situation was not your fault, and I will not blame you in the slightest for having bad feelings about it."

Harry felt a chill down his spine that wasn't dissimilar to the cold he felt when approached by a dementor. He had yet to say a word about his godfather or his home life, yet this man was talking as if it were a foregone conclusion that Sirius was abusive.

"Bad feelings about what, sir?" he said out loud, trying to appear as clueless as possible. The only thing that kept him from yelling in Kinder's face was the fact that this man's good report was the only thing standing between Sirius and Azkaban.

Kinder tapped the quill with his wand, and it once again started writing. "You may not be aware of it, but one of my colleagues was in the Atrium when you entered the Ministry this morning. Thinking that it might be relevant, he invited me to view the memory in a Pensieve. Black was present in the Atrium when you entered, yes?"

"Well, yes," Harry answered cautiously. He didn't see where this conversation was going, but it certainly didn't seem to be leading any place good.

"Apparently, he decided to come late to his own hearing in favor of being in the Atrium when you arrived."

"But Sirius's trial isn't until noon!" Harry blurted out.

"The time was changed," Kinder said with a sigh, "in order to prevent occurrences of the type that unfortunately happened anyway. It isn't uncommon for an abusive guardian to make an attempt at intimidation, in order to dissuade a child from giving evidence—"

"What? I wasn't—"

"Harry, forgive me, but you did not see your face. I did, and you were clearly quite frightened."

"Yeah, frightened he'd be arrested and get sent back to Azkaban!"

"Surely that is an overstatement," Kinder said with a raised eyebrow. "If Black truly has done nothing wrong—"

"Didn't do anything wrong the first time, did he?" Harry grumbled.

"In any case, we are not here to discuss the events of thirteen years ago. Now, as to your home life with Black…" finally, he was getting to the point, "would you describe it as satisfactory?"

"Well, yes."

"Has he ever yelled at you for no reason or called you names?"

Harry relaxed marginally. "No, never."

"Has he ever cursed or hexed you?"

"No."

"Has he hit you?"

"No."

"How does Black punish you?"

"How—how _what?_"

Kinder raised an eyebrow. "When you misbehave."

"A-actually, he hasn't really—"

"Are you saying that your behavior is always perfect? Or that your guardian allows you to get away with anything you want?"

"_No!_ It's just… I haven't been living with him for that long, I spend most of my time away at Hogwarts, and it hasn't really come up yet." Harry thought fast. "Um… he does warn me a lot to be careful, though. And he's told me to talk to him about any problems I have…"

"I see." Kinder said this as if he did, and didn't much like what he saw. "Can you tell me how it was that you injured your head at the Quidditch World Cup?"

"I fell—"

"Harry." Kinder leaned forward, lowering his voice. "During the years I have worked here, I've seen dozens of children come in with seemingly trivial injuries. Every single one of them has claimed to have fallen at first, or crashed while riding a broomstick, or miscast a spell, or brewed a potion wrong and had it explode. I have _always_ been able to move them to better homes, provided they told me the truth. Those who didn't let me help them, however…" He sighed. "They often ended up getting killed, or worse. Understand I am not saying this to frighten you, but to help you make the right decision. Now, how did you injure your head?"

Harry crossed his arms. "I fell."

"Do you remember falling? Or were you informed of the fact after receiving the injury?"

"Look, I was running into the woods when those people in robes and masks started levitating Muggles. I wasn't watching where I was going, and tripped over a tree root. I had two friends with me who could tell you what happened. Sirius wasn't even _there_."

"Very well, then. How did you come to be hospitalized at the end of the school year?"

Harry gaped. Surely, _surely_ they weren't going to try to blame Sirius for that as well.

Apparently, they were. Kinder was giving him a look of utmost pity, and Harry realized that he was either an extraordinarily good actor, or he actually _believed_ everything he was saying. He thought over his answer carefully.

"I was bitten by a snake—"

"Did this happen at Hogwarts? Or were you in Black's care at the time?"

"No. Someone had slipped me a Portkey. It took me off Hogwarts grounds during a Quidditch game, there were hundreds of witnesses…"

"I see. And can you think of anyone who would want to give you a Portkey into a nest full of snakes?"

Harry was tired of playing this game. "Voldemort," he said.

He got a brief moment of satisfaction as Kinder jumped about a foot into the air. He recovered disappointingly quickly. "Why, exactly, do you assume that _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ had the means to slip you a Portkey, when there is no evidence whatsoever that he is even still alive?"

"Oh, he's alive all right, and I know because I _saw_ him."

"I see. Are you able, then, to describe what he looks like?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you really want to know, he's got a face like a snake, no hair, slits for nostrils, red eyes—"

"A forked tongue as well?" Kinder said drily.

"Not that I saw. Then again, it was pretty dark and I was too busy wondering whether or not I was going to die to really pay attention to things like that." Harry's temper was frayed almost to the breaking point, and he hoped this interview would hurry up and end before he said anything he would seriously regret.

Fortunately, Kinder seemed about ready to wrap up. He tapped the quill with his wand, rolled up the parchment, and tucked it under his arm. On his way out the door, he laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. It took every ounce of willpower Harry possessed not to violently shrug it off.

"Remember, Harry, I am only here to help if you ever decide you want to talk about what happened that night. If there is ever anything you want help with, anything at all, feel free to send me an owl anytime you like." Harry, reminding himself what was at stake, kept his lips pressed firmly together. After a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity, that oppressive weight was lifted from his shoulder and Harry stifled a sigh of relief.

Not trusting his knees to hold him up just yet and not wanting to see Kinder when he came out of the room, Harry remained in his chair for a few more minutes, breathing deeply. After a little while, there was a knock on the door.

"Harry?" Mr. Weasley poked his head inside the room. "I saw the social worker leave. How did it go?"

"I don't know!" Harry said desperately. He got up from the chair, joining Mr. Weasley on the way back to his office. "I mean, I kept telling the truth but he seemed so determined to pin everything on Sirius…"

"Don't worry, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, laying a hand on his shoulder, and this touch was comforting rather than oppressive. "They can't do anything unless they have real evidence."

Harry didn't respond to that, but all the while there was a voice whispering in the back of his head. _They didn't need any real evidence to throw Sirius in Azkaban the first time…_

_Shut up_, Harry thought. It didn't do much good.

When they got back to the office he tried to distract himself by watching Mr. Weasley work, but that soon got extremely boring. When Harry began to restlessly stand up and sit back down (there wasn't room to pace), Mr. Weasley suggested, not unkindly, that he might be more comfortable waiting in the Atrium. Relieved, Harry jumped up and made his way back to the lift.

No one paid him the slightest bit of attention as he returned to the Atrium and sat down on one of the gleaming benches. No sooner had he sat, however, than he was up and pacing once more.

He looked at his watch. Maybe five minutes had passed since he'd left Mr. Weasley's office. What was that Kinder had said about them moving Sirius's trial to an earlier time? There was no way that that hearing could go on much longer than Harry's had, unless…

_Unless they decided to just send Sirius back to Azkaban and nobody bothered to tell me first…_

Harry strode back and forth across the length of the Atrium, unconsciously mimicking Sirius's actions of that morning. He checked his watch at regular intervals, but now that he would have done anything to speed up time, it seemed to have a disobliging habit of slowing down, so that when he would have sworn half an hour had passed he would look at his watch to find that it had only been half a minute. Harry started to wish he'd brought a book, even though he didn't think he'd be able to read right now anyway.

He walked over to the Fountain of Magical Brethren and examined the statues. Then, for complete lack of anything better to do, he bent over the edge and looked at the coins beneath the shimmering water. He had just started counting the Knuts on the bottom for the sole purpose of passing the time, when from across the Atrium there came a voice yelling his name.

"Harry! _Harry!_"

Harry's heart skipped a beat—he lifted his head from the fountain, and there was Sirius running toward him from the lift.

He didn't ask how the hearing had gone—one look at the huge grin spreading across his godfather's face told him all he needed to know. Instead, wearing a smile to match Sirius's, Harry leapt from his place by the fountain and ran to meet him. They met halfway across the Atrium and Sirius, much to his surprise, wrapped both arms around Harry and pulled him close as though he never wanted to let go. Harry, after a moment's shocked hesitation, put his arms around Sirius in return.

He didn't know how much time had passed before they broke apart, Sirius laughing shakily. "I don't know how much more of this I can stand." Then, in a more normal voice, "Come on, Harry, let's get out of here."

"Just a minute, I want to tell Mr. Weasley."

"I already stopped by his office on my way up." Sirius began to stride out of the Atrium, Harry following in his wake.

"So where are we going?"

"Remus is meeting us in Diagon Alley. We'll take care of everything else when the booklists arrive, but we can't let you go any longer without a wand."

"Oh." Then, as they passed the fountain, Harry stopped. "Hold on a minute, Sirius, I just remembered something." He turned back to the fountain and, instead of ten Galleons, emptied his entire money bag into the pool.

* * *

**A/N:** Out of all the chapters for Year 5, this is the one that has so far given me the most grief. It's actually the first chapter for which I ended up writing a _third_ draft - in other words, I went through and rewrote the entire chapter not once, but twice. I blame Kinder. He made the writing more difficult just by being there, since I had to invent his entire character from scratch. Stupid OC...

**Kinder:** To be quite honest I've been leery of OCs ever since I got over my Mary Sue phase, but this is one situation that I think called for one. I had a role that needed filling, and none of the canon characters were up to filling it.

Kinder is not supposed to be particularly likable (though you should have seen him the first time I wrote him!). At one point I did do some research on the right way to talk to a child when abuse is suspected, because I wanted him to do at least _some_ things right. He's not doing _everything_ right (asking leading questions is a definite no-no, from what I understand), but I expect that he'd need to have at least some level of competence in order to keep his job, like Fudge and Quirrell and Lockhart and Umbridge and who the hell am I kidding, competence has no place in wizarding job security.

**Unfortunate Implications:** And the horror continues. It was while writing this chapter that I realized just how many ways wizarding parents can abuse their children. Aside from the usual horrors (which Muggles can manage quite well without the aid of magic), you have things like the Cruciatus curse (causes torture-level pain and doesn't leave a mark), the Imperius curse (by the way this one is canon, and I don't even want to _think_ about some of the other ways it could be used), and hey, if the child ever shows signs of going for help, there's always the good ole' Memory Charm to make them forget that anything ever happened. No wonder the WFS office is so disused.

Title of next chapter: "Ministry vs. Marauders"


	20. YEAR5 Ministry vs Marauders

**Disclaimer:** If it's something you recognize, it doesn't belong to me. I'm writing this for fun, not profit.

* * *

Remus was waiting for them in the Leaky Cauldron, slowly nursing a glass of firewhisky. When Harry stepped out of the fire, closely followed by Sirius, a look of immense relief crossed his face.

"Oh, excellent," he said, setting down his barely-touched drink without another glance at it. "Now I don't have to start plotting ways to get you out of Azkaban again."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Professor Lupin, I am shocked! A respectable man like you, turn to a life of crime?"

Remus only smiled and ushered them through the door, but as Sirius was passing he leaned in close and whispered, so that only Sirius and Harry could hear him, "Life gets pretty boring when you're the last of the Marauders. Just don't let it happen again, okay?"

Diagon Alley wasn't as crowded and bustling as it was right before the beginning of the school year, but there was still a good deal of noise and activity, and Harry couldn't help but find it strange knowing that Voldemort had returned only a few months before. Sirius and Remus, he noted, walked on either side of him. Remus's hand was in his pocket surreptitiously clutching his wand, whereas Sirius held his openly, looking all around as if daring anyone to attempt a hex on Harry. Though no-one did so, as they walked down the street he saw that many people pointed and stared, often whispering behind their hands. He tried to ignore it, but it was a relief when they stepped into Ollivander's and the door closed behind them.

"Ah yes, Harry Potter." Ollivander's voice drifted out of the shadows the moment they walked in. "Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather." Harry's stomach began to squirm at the mention of his lost wand.

"He needs a new wand, Ollivander," Sirius jumped in. "The old one seems to have disappeared."

"The circumstances were rather dire," said Remus, who had apparently seen the disapproving look that crossed Ollivander's face.

The wandmaker didn't comment, however; he merely took down a box. "Here," he said, thrusting a wand into Harry's hand with more force than was strictly necessary. "Beech and dragon heartstring, fourteen inches." Harry gave it a wave, but of course nothing happened.

And so it was with the next wand. And the next. And the next. And the next. Harry was reminded of his first trip to Diagon Alley, before he had ever set foot in Hogwarts, waving wand after wand as a pile of them built up at his feet. But this time there was no sense of enthusiastic anticipation from Ollivander, who handed the wands to Harry with no more than a terse description of each.

For his part, Harry wasn't feeling the least bit eager or excited. If anything, a leaden weight of dread seemed to be sinking deeper into the pit of his stomach with each failed wand. He wasn't the only one, either: from the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius and Remus exchanging worried looks at each successive wand that was thrown onto the discarded pile, which was now far larger than it had been his first time in here. Still, he kept doggedly waving every wand that was put into his hand, hoping to feel that welcoming warmth and see a shower of sparks when he brought it swishing down.

He waited in vain. Harry had just waved the last wand (oak and unicorn hair, twelve inches) and held out his hand for another, but there was no response. He looked at Ollivander, who shook his head.

"I am afraid, Mr. Potter, that that is every wand in my shop."

Harry's heart sank somewhere down into his toes. Did this mean that he wasn't a proper wizard anymore?

Sirius was saying something. "Isn't there anything you can do? He has to have a wand this year."

"He could, of course, use any of these," said Ollivander, running a finger over the last wand Harry had discarded. "But that is not what you meant, is it?" It was not a question. "Of course, Harry Potter must have a wand that is suited to him, a wand that _chose_ him." The wandmaker looked at him through those large eyes that never seemed to blink. "I suppose… If the phoenix that provided the core for his first wand could be persuaded to drop another feather, it would be possible to have one custom-made… It will cost you extra, of course…"

"I'll pay anything you want," Sirius said at once. "Just as long as he has a wand by the start of the school year."

Sirius ended up paying the full price in advance. While he was counting out Galleons Harry protested that he could pay for his own wand.

"And who just dumped his entire moneybag into the Ministry fountain?" Sirius asked, eyes sparkling.

"I could go over to Gringott's and get more…"

"Gringott's isn't the best place to go right now," Sirius said darkly, holding the door open for Harry and Remus.

"You won't see anything about this in the _Prophet_," Remus added quietly, "but yesterday a goblin child went missing. So far the Ministry has hardly done anything, and there's a lot of ill will between the goblin and wizarding communities right now."

"A goblin child went missing? But that sounds like—"

"I know what it sounds like," Sirius said shortly. "Dumbledore knows what it sounds like too, but we are not discussing it here."

Harry, though still curious, decided to drop it for the time being. "So does this mean I get to go back to – back home?" he asked instead.

At that Sirius grimaced, but Remus was the one who answered him. "I'm sorry, Harry," he said, "but no. We've already moved you once this summer and there's no point putting you in even more danger."

"Oh." Harry looked dejectedly at his shoes.

Sirius was staring intently around Diagon Alley; he seemed to be having some kind of internal struggle. Finally he said, "I'll stay there with you until the end of summer."

Harry's head shot up. Sirius was looking at him anxiously; he also looked as if there was no place he would rather be less. "Y-you don't have to, you know," Harry said quickly. "I've still got the mirror, I wouldn't mind just talking on that…"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sirius said with a scowl, drawing a smile out of Remus. "I want to spend time with you; I'll be there till you go back to school, at least."

Harry gave him a tentative smile, and was rewarded when Sirius grinned back.

* * *

In spite of his continued lack of a wand, Harry was in high spirits by the time they returned to 12 Grimmauld Place. As soon as he walked through the door all of his friends rushed up to him, demanding (in whispers, so as not to wake Mrs. Black) to know how the hearing had gone.

So Harry, Sirius, and Remus accompanied Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny into the drawing room, which they had only just yesterday finished ridding of doxies. Harry's story was quickly told.

"That's… worrisome," Remus admitted after Harry had finished. "It's evident that Fudge is looking for a scapegoat, and that Sirius has been elected right alongside Dumbledore."

"I know," Harry said. "It was like he was looking for any excuse to say Sirius was abusive."

"Unsurprising," Sirius said darkly. He then began filling them in on the details of his trial.

It wasn't pleasant to listen to. Harry already knew that they'd changed the time at the last minute, and it didn't come as much of a surprise that no-one had bothered to inform Sirius of this.

"As a matter of fact, if not for Brighton, I might have missed the trial altogether."

"Who?"

Sirius smiled. "The witch who nearly arrested me this morning. Funny how only the lowest ranks of the MLE seem to care about actual justice…"

The more Sirius told them, the worse it got. Apparently his hearing had been held in the old courtroom that had formerly been used for Death Eater trials – the room that he would have seen had he got a trial when the Ministry thought he actually _was_ a Death Eater.

"And the whole Wizengamot was there too," Sirius continued as everybody gaped at him. He laughed. "I was so bitter about not getting a trial, but now that I know what it's like I'm almost glad that I didn't.

"So anyway, there was Fudge, just about set to belt out 'guilty' no matter what the actual evidence was, and this really nasty witch who looked like a toad… Umbridge, I think her name was…"

"_HER!"_

Harry jumped. So did everyone else in the room. It was no wonder, either: the outburst had come from Remus. Now he was on his feet, fists clenched so hard that his knuckles were white and his hands shook. Even Sirius looked taken aback at the sudden change. "Moony, what—"

"Oh, I should have known _she'd_ be in on this somehow." He continued to pace while all the others gaped. "That vile, bigoted—"

"Remus, calm down!" Sirius looked a bit like he'd taken a Bludger to the head.

Remus stopped pacing, and looked around at the others as if he had only just noticed they were there. "Oh. Sorry, Padfoot." He laughed once, humourlessly, and didn't so much sit down as fall into the nearest chair.

For a few moments he remained slumped there, taking deep breaths with his eyes closed as if trying to get himself under control. It took him a bit of time, but he seemed to have succeeded: when he opened his eyes to find everyone still watching as if he might explode, he chuckled softly, and when he spoke most of the anger had drained out of his voice.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation," he said, sitting up a bit straighter. "You see, this is not the first time I've dealt with Dolores Umbridge, and she's a nasty piece of work. She loathes part-humans—centaurs, merpeople, all of us should be rounded up and tagged as far as she's concerned, if not killed outright." He smiled, and once again there was no humour in it. "Last year she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation that makes it almost impossible for me to get a job."

There was a brief silence as everybody took this in. For his part, Harry was suddenly remembering how Remus had seemed to look shabbier every time they saw each other, and how he had a great deal more grey hair than when he had taught Defense only two years ago. Anti-werewolf prejudice alone had made his life difficult already, and now this Umbridge cow had passed a decree that could accomplish little more than ensuring that Remus starved to death—which he just might have, if not for Sirius's support. Harry felt his hands clench into fists.

Remus seemed to have picked up on the atmosphere. "Don't worry about me," he said, waving a hand. "I've been dealing with things like this for most of my adult life. Sirius, if you would continue?"

"Wha—? Oh! The trial!" Sirius ran a shaky hand through his hair. "So there I was with Fudge yelling at me, saying I'd lost my mind, asking me all sorts of questions implying that I was a violent madman and that I was a danger to Harry. Kept trying to insinuate that I'd murdered Crouch, too." He barked out a humourless laugh. "By the time Dumbledore came in I was just about ready to do something violent to Fudge right there, and damn the consequences."

"Sirius, that could have been a disaster!" Hermione said. "If you hadn't got hold of your temper—"

"Wait, _Dumbledore?_" Harry interrupted. "_Dumbledore_ showed up?"

"Yeah, he swung it for me," Sirius admitted. "Pointed out to Fudge that there was no real evidence I was insane or violent, then called in witnesses—Moody told them all about how we'd rescued you from the graveyard, and then told the Wizengamot how many people in the Ministry must have their heads up their arses if they're wasting their time on false accusations instead of going after real dark wizards." Hermione was staring at Sirius with her mouth hanging open, but all the rest of them chuckled appreciatively. "Then Dumbledore told them there was nothing other than hearsay that I'd murdered Crouch or anyone else, and pointed out that I'd already spent twelve years in Azkaban for one crime I didn't commit. Asked if the Ministry was about to repeat the same mistakes as last time.

"After that Fudge backtracked to the accusations that I was somehow abusing you, Harry. Started talking about that tree root incident at the Quidditch World Cup, and how you'd come up with some pathetic excuse like falling down." Harry groaned, and Sirius reached over to ruffle his hair. "Anyway, Dumbledore offered to call in Ron and Hermione to confirm your side of the story, and Fudge started blustering on about how he didn't have time to waste listening to children."

"So, what happened after that?" Hermione asked, eyes wide.

"Nothing much. While Fudge was still arguing with Dumbledore this bloke Kinder came in. Said he'd just finished questioning you." Harry nodded. "He said you hadn't been willing to give any evidence against me—just like that, as if he actually thought there _was_ evidence to give. After he was finished the Wizengamot took a vote. I got off, but it was a close thing."

Ron let out a low whistle. "Good thing Dumbledore was there, eh?"

"I suppose it was. I don't like to think what would have happened otherwise." Sirius got up and stretched, cracking his back.

Everyone started moving out of the room. Harry got up last and he and Sirius made for the door as well, only to find that Fred and George had apparently accosted Remus.

"You did, didn't you?" Fred was saying as they came within earshot. "You called Sirius Padfoot."

"And I'm quite certain I heard him call you Moony," George put in. "Is it true?"

Fred saw Sirius coming and quickly turned to him. "It is, isn't it?" he said. "You're the Marauders."

Sirius and Remus looked at each other, eyebrows raised. Before either could say anything, though, Fred and George had linked arms and, without missing a beat, prostrated themselves on the floor.

"We solemnly swear—"

"—that we're up to no good."

Remus groaned and put his head in his hands. "Oh, Padfoot," he moaned. "I _told_ you that map would catch up with us someday."

* * *

The twins' latest screaming fight with their mother notwithstanding, that night Harry managed to sleep well for the first time in days. He had no dreams that he could remember, and woke up feeling unusually alert and refreshed. It was six in the morning.

He looked over at Ron. His best friend was snoring, and past experience told him that Ron was unlikely to wake on his own for another few hours at least. So, knowing that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep and not wanting to just sit there for another few hours, Harry made his way down to the kitchen in the hopes of making himself a quick breakfast.

As he neared the kitchen door, however, he heard a rhythmic clunking noise coming from the kitchen.

Harry paused. _Clunk, clunk, clunk._ He wondered if maybe they'd missed something dangerous when they were cleaning out this part of the house. _Clunk, clunk, clunk._ Or if that boggart or whatever it was hiding in the drawing room had somehow managed to escape into the kitchen. _Clunk, clunk, clunk._

Harry, however, was not a Gryffindor for nothing, and after a few seconds' hesitation he boldly stepped forward and pushed open the door.

He was greeted by the sight of his godfather sitting at the kitchen table and repeatedly banging his head against it, which explained the clunking noise at least. An open book was on the table next to him, and on the floor sat the twisted remains of something that might once have been a cauldron, along with several scorch marks that definitely hadn't been there the night before.

"Sirius?"

_Clunk._ Sirius's head hit the table one last time. "Morning, Harry," he said, his voice muffled by the heavy wood of the kitchen table. "Breakfast?" He didn't wait for an answer, but without lifting his head from the table he waved his wand. Several skillets, bacon, and sausage immediately flew to the stove, and the eggs started scrambling themselves.

"Er… Sirius?" When he didn't get a response Harry edged closer to the table, and peered into the book that was sitting on the table. "You were trying to brew Wolfsbane?" he asked in surprise.

"'Trying' being the operative word." Finally he lifted his head from the table, and gestured for Harry to sit next to him. "Don't tell Moony," he pleaded. "Right now it's not looking good, and I don't want to get his hopes up."

"Don't worry, I won't." Harry slid onto the bench next to Sirius, taking a closer look at the instructions as he did so. It was the most complicated potion he had ever seen; though he wasn't an expert on the Hogwarts curriculum, he would have guessed that it was well beyond N.E.W.T. level. Harry let out a low whistle.

"Exactly." Sirius sighed. "If only Lily were here, she'd have brewed it perfectly within the week."

"My mother was good at Potions?" Harry asked in surprise.

"The best in our class." Sirius suddenly looked wistful. "Lily always came out ahead of everyone in Potions, except maybe Snape." He looked searchingly at Harry. "No-one ever told you much about her, did they?"

Harry shook his head, feeling more than a little wistful himself. "Everyone is always telling me about my father. Not that I mind," he added hastily, "but I never get to hear about my mum. The only thing Aunt Petunia ever said about her was that she was a freak."

There was a flash of anger across Sirius's face, though he quickly masked it. "Your mother was not a freak," he said firmly. "Never let anyone tell you otherwise." He took a few deep breaths, apparently trying desperately not to lose his temper in front of Harry. "Well," he said more gently, "we've got plenty of time right now. How would you like to hear some old stories?"

"I would like that," Harry admitted quietly.

"Well, James and I met Lily Evans for the first time on the Hogwarts Express, and she didn't like us one bit…"

* * *

**A/N:** Lots of dialogue in this chapter, but it's also a transition chapter. Things can't be all action all the time.

The more observant among you have probably noticed that I am now making a (probably disastrous) attempt to write in proper British English, spelling and all. Due to lack of a Brit-picker I'm sort of groping around in the dark on this issue, so if anyone who's a native speaker sees any mistakes or overt Americanisms I would appreciate it if you told me what I'm doing wrong and how to fix it.

**Wands:** I'm aware that **S'TarKan** has used the idea of Harry losing his wand and being unable to bond with a new one in one of his stories, and while I admit that this part of my story may have been partially inspired by that scene, I have no idea where he was going with it, and already have my own plans as to where the wand dilemma will go. Hopefully they're unique.

I've left it deliberately ambiguous whether Harry's trouble finding a new wand is because there genuinely isn't another wand out there to match him, or something to do with Harry's own mentality. The answer to that question remains to be seen.

**Wolfsbane:** Due to something Remus said in HBP, I'm assuming that Snape didn't continue brewing Wolfsbane for him after he stopped teaching. The exact line:

"I do not forget that during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon."

Note the use of the past tense: "_made_ the Wolfsbane Potion," "_did_ not have to suffer" (emphasis mine). My guess is that Snape was persuaded to do it while Remus was teaching for the safety of the students, but didn't feel obliged to continue once nobody else's health was potentially at risk.

It's explicitly stated in PoA that Wolfsbane is a hellishly complicated potion, and Sirius may be smart but that doesn't automatically make him an expert in everything. I predict many more exploded cauldrons in the near future.

Title of next chapter: "Fear"


	21. YEAR5 Fear

**Disclaimer:** All characters and creatures that appear in this chapter belong to J. K. Rowling. I am only borrowing them and am writing for fun, not profit.

* * *

Harry's new wand arrived on the same day as their booklists. He was indescribably relieved when he picked it up and felt the warmth flowing through his arm; while Ron was still gaping at his prefect badge, Harry gave the wand a casual wave and a few red and gold sparks shot from the tip. He frowned.

"What's the matter, mate?" Ron asked jokingly. "Wrong type of wood?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing, it's just… my first wand was a lot better."

"Don't see what you're complaining about." Ron set his badge carefully down on the table, as though afraid it would burn him if he held onto it too long. "If I lost my wand again I'd be stuck borrowing for the rest of my Hogwarts career."

"Yeah, I suppose so." Harry carefully set the wand back in its box. He himself didn't understand where the feeling of disappointment came from, but at that moment he would have liked nothing better than to have his old holly-and-phoenix feather wand back in his hand.

Hermione chose that moment to burst through the doorway, waving her own prefect badge. When Ron glowered at her for her surprise that he'd been made a prefect rather than Harry, she quickly changed the subject to Harry's new wand.

"So you got it? Oh, that's wonderful! It would have been horrible to start your O.W.L. year without a wand."

"Yeah," said Harry, not looking at the wand in the box. "That's great. Really great."

Hermione gave him a puzzled look but didn't comment, instead contenting herself with examining the wand. "Ash and phoenix feather, thirteen inches," she read aloud from the attached note. "Supple." She set down the bit of parchment and bent to look at the wand again, though she did not touch it. "Wow, Harry, this is really well-made. I bet Ollivander puts in more effort for custom orders."

"Yeah, probably." Harry forced a smile onto his face. "Anyway, congratulations, you two."

* * *

Harry took his time going to Ron and Hermione's party that night (he had, as a matter of fact, been cautiously examining his new wand), so by the time he came downstairs most of the Order were already there and he was able to blend into the crowd. Harry was just opening a second butterbeer and trying to enjoy himself when one of the last people he would have expected to see walked through the door.

"Was wondering whether you'd make it tonight, Diggory," he heard Moody growl from the doorway.

"I was afraid I wouldn't be able to," Cedric replied. "We had a meeting that ran late, I was afraid the Minister was going to keep us all night… Hullo, Harry."

"Er… hey, Cedric." There was an awkward silence while Moody clumped off and Harry stupidly stared, trying to think of something to say. "So… are you in the Order now, then?"

"Yes." They started to move across the room. "After I returned your Firebolt, Lupin tracked me down and said I should consider talking to Dumbledore." He paused.

Harry waited while Cedric got a butterbeer of his own. He continued to wait while Cedric worked the cork free, little by little, and took a long, slow sip.

Finally, he lowered the bottle from his lips and looked, not at Harry, but at a point somewhere across the room. "You don't know what it was like, seeing you just disappear off the pitch like that," he said quietly. He sighed shakily and set the butterbeer back on the table. "The things I'd been reading in the _Prophet_ and hearing from my parents just didn't make sense. Everyone was saying you were brainwashed or confused, but that didn't explain how you'd got a Portkey. And… I saw your godfather, right after you disappeared. He was in shock. Seeing him react like that, I just couldn't believe…"

Harry nodded. "All that stuff the _Prophet's_ been saying about Sirius—it's rubbish. The Ministry just wants to get me away from him because they think he and Dumbledore have been brainwashing me to believe Voldemort's back."

Cedric flinched slightly, but not nearly as much as Harry would have expected. "I couldn't really doubt it, after hearing it from you. I might have had some doubts before—of course I didn't _want_ to believe You-Know-Who was back—but I also think you would be the last person to lie about it. If you say he's back, he's back."

"Thanks. For… believing me, and everything." Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Listen, I have to finish packing—but it was nice talking to you."

Cedric opened his mouth as if to protest, but at that moment Tonks came up to him and started chattering. He gave a slight wave, and Harry was allowed to escape.

Suddenly, Harry wanted nothing more than to be alone. So he made his way upstairs, cursing himself all the while. After all that had happened last year his rivalry with Cedric now seemed so stupid and childish, and now Harry could barely look at him without feeling a complete berk. Yet here Cedric was, still on his side in spite of it all…

Suddenly, Harry heard a voice. He stopped and stood as still as he could manage, listening. It came again, so muffled he could barely hear it, and it seemed to be coming from the drawing room.

"Hello?" Harry said. There was no answer, but another voice spoke in response to the first. He crept up to the drawing room, and as he approached the first voice resolved itself into Sirius's, though he still couldn't quite make out the second.

"_Riddikulus!_ _Riddikulus_, damn it! _Riddikulus!_"

Harry peered inside, and was shocked to see his own mirror image lying on the floor. Boggart-Harry (for his identical twin couldn't possibly have been anything else) was sprawled on the floor, face contorted in pain, blood seeping from open wounds all over its body. As Harry watched it raised a hand toward Sirius and spoke in a shaky voice that was barely more than a whisper.

"H-help me, Sirius."

"_Riddikulus!_"

"P-please, help me."

"_RIDDIKULUS!_"

"Sirius, get out of here!" shouted Harry, stepping into the room, unable to take his eyes off his replica. "Let someone else—"

_Crack._

Where duplicate-Harry had been there was now the robed and hooded figure of a dementor which bore down on him, removing a scabbed, rotting hand from inside of its robes…

Sirius's head whipped around to where Harry was standing, and his eyes widened in horror at the sight of Harry facing down a dementor. For a second he seemed frozen in place… Harry could hear his parents screaming as Voldemort murdered them… he needed a Patronus, but he didn't have his wand… his wand was upstairs… no, it was lost…

Sirius, though, seemed to have shaken himself free of his horrified trance and was running toward Harry. "It's me, you want, damn it!" he shouted. "Come after _me!_"

For a moment, the boggart seemed confused. Its hooded face turned toward Sirius, then back to Harry, and with another loud _crack!_ it turned into Harry again.

When his parents' voices stopped screaming in his head, the real Harry lowered his hands from his ears. In the dementor's place there stood an identical version of himself that was wearing a tattered grey cloak, the hood drawn up so far over his head that it nearly covered his face. At first dementor-boggart-Harry looked at Sirius and started toward him, but then it seemed to change its mind and went back to Harry.

Harry watched numbly as his identical twin looked at him with an expression of hungry anticipation on what he could see of its hooded face. It pulled an empty hand from its cloak and reached out, looking as though it expected him to run screaming in fear at the sight of his own fingers. Then, as it started walking towards him (it looked, he thought, much like Draco Malfoy would if Polyjuiced into his body), it tripped over the hem of its cloak and went sprawling on the floor.

Harry couldn't help it. He burst out laughing, and the boggart vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Sweet Merlin above." Sirius crossed the room and sank down against the wall; Harry sat next to him. "What _was_ that?"

"Remus told us about it third year," said Harry, still trying to suppress his giggles. "The boggart tried to scare both of us at once, and ended up mixing up your worst fear and mine." At that his control vanished and he burst out laughing once again. "I—don't make a—very—scary dementor—do I?"

"No, you don't," said Sirius, and Harry was relieved to see that there was a ghost of a smile on his face. It faded, however, as Sirius looked at the place where the boggart had been.

"I hate this," he said. "So many times now you've nearly died when I was right there. I ought to do better."

"There wasn't much you could have done when Voldemort—"

"I should have taken Dumbledore's warnings more seriously," Sirius continued as though he hadn't heard at all. "I should have paid more attention to those dreams you were having. I should have—"

"Sirius—"

"I should have listened when you told me about the Dursleys."

"You couldn't have done anything then, and besides, Dumbledore said—"

"Bollocks to what Dumbledore said! This is your _life_, Harry! There's no point keeping you hidden from Voldemort if you'll just end up getting killed by your own relatives!"

"It wasn't that bad…"

"Not that bad? Harry, when Remus brought you back he told me that you had blisters all over your hands and burns all over your neck, and it looked as if you hadn't been fed properly for weeks!" He sank against the wall, burying his face in his hands.

"Remus _told_ you?" Though it was true he hadn't asked his former Defense professor not to tell Sirius, he thought it went without saying that he would have liked to keep this private.

"Yes, he bloody well did! And a good thing, too, otherwise I never would have found out. Seeing as Dumbledore never saw fit to inform me that you were being treated like a house-elf by those so-called guardians of yours…" Sirius lowered his hands from his face and leaned back against the wall. "Harry, why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"There was nothing you could have done," Harry said softly. "Threatening the Dursleys again would just make things worse, and if you'd tried to take me away the Ministry would have locked you up again."

"Well, they might have tried." Sirius's mouth was set in a firm line. "I promise you, though, I won't let it happen again. I'll even spirit you away to America if I have to."

Harry goggled at him. "_America?_ You can't be serious."

"Of course I'm serious. Do you really think I'd leave you to the Dursleys?"

"No, it's just… America? What made you decide on _that_, of all places?"

Sirius hung his head. "It's the only other country where I speak the language."

For a second they only looked at each other, Sirius with an eyebrow raised as if daring Harry to comment. Then, at the same time, they both burst out laughing.

"Language barrier—my—arse," Harry gasped. "Why not—move to—Australia, then?"

"It's—upside-down," Sirius gasped out in between laughs. "Do you—want to be—walking around—upside-down?" They both broke down completely again.

"What is going on in here?" Mrs. Weasley had come to the door. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of Harry and Sirius, sitting against the wall lost in fits of laughter. "Harry, dear, everyone downstairs wants to know where you are. And there's a boggart in here I want to get rid of…"

"It's been taken care of, Molly." Sirius pushed himself to his feet. "So how about it, Harry?" he asked, brushing dust off his robes. "You ready to go back down?"

"I guess so." In truth, he wasn't at all eager to rejoin the party, but their discussion after facing the boggart had left him feeling a lot better. Harry got up, dusted himself off, and followed Sirius back downstairs.

* * *

**A/N:** Yep, it's a Sunday update. That's what happens when I get almost no sleep between Friday and Saturday.

I know that this is a short chapter, but the next one will be quite a bit longer. I've lost some momentum in the writing process due to losing a file and not wanting to write everything all over again, but that's what the buffer is for, right?

**Boggarts:** I admit I was slightly disappointed that laughter was introduced as the means of defeating a boggart in PoA, but never mentioned again in any of the later books. I also had quite a bit of fun playing with the idea of a boggart mixing up two different people's worst fears.

Title of next chapter: "Lessons in Defense"


	22. YEAR5 Lessons in Defense

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Harry Potter, Sirius would never have been killed by a curtain. Needless to say, I don't.

* * *

"Who's _that?_"

"It's that Kinder bloke!"

"Who?"

"He's the one who questioned me about Sirius, he works for Fudge!"

"What on earth's he doing here, then?"

"Dunno…"

"No," Hermione muttered, scanning the staff table, "no, surely not…"

The Sorting started before Harry could ask her what she meant.

He found out soon enough after the feast, however. He grit his teeth as Kinder stood up to make a speech; the man was looking right at Harry the entire time.

It was a relief to get out of the Great Hall and back to the Gryffindor common room. That feeling of relief was short-lived, however, when Harry noticed the looks he was getting from his fellow Gryffindors.

Things got even worse when he went up to the dormitory. He found himself growing increasingly ill-tempered as he fended off questions from Seamus and Dean about what had _really_ happened that day he'd disappeared, and Harry had just about reached the breaking point when out of nowhere another voice spoke up.

"Leave him alone!"

Shocked, they all turned toward Neville, who was sitting on the end of his bed and not looking at any of them.

"Leave him alone," Neville repeated, his voice quieter but also firmer. "He said he didn't want to talk about it, so why do you keep asking?"

"All right, all right!" Seamus threw his hands up in the air. "It's just fishy, all the rumours that have been going around. Can you blame me for wanting to hear it from the source?"

Harry didn't have the energy to respond, or to argue further. He did, however, give Neville a small nod of thanks, and thought he saw Neville give him a faint smile in return. He fell into bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Harry knew the day was going to be bad when he awoke with his scar prickling after a night spent dreaming of long corridors and locked doors. He knew it was going to be worse when McGonagall handed out their schedules and he saw what was in store for the Gryffindor fifth years every Monday for the rest of the year. When McGonagall told him that he was to come to her office after classes to schedule his make-up exams for that weekend, he seriously considered just going back to bed.

That feeling only got worse as the day progressed. After the nightmare that was History of Magic, Potions, and Divination one after the other, Harry was sorely tempted to just skive off Defense. After Hermione shot him a beady look, however ("It's your O.W.L. year, Harry!"), he decided that it would be unwise to upset the person who always corrected his homework and resigned himself to yet another horrible lesson.

When they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom it was to find Professor Kinder standing rigidly by the blackboard, ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind his back, watching them all with an eye that seemed to miss nothing.

"Good afternoon, class," he said when everyone was seated. "Wands away and quills out, please."

Once everyone had taken out quills and parchment, Professor Kinder began to speak again. "I will begin our first class," he said, "with a brief lecture on the subject of defense." Unclasping his hands, he drew his wand and tapped the blackboard. Words appeared on the board at once:

_Defense Against the Dark Arts_

_A Return to Basic Principles_

"I am given to understand," Kinder continued, returning to his former posture, "that your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented. The constant changing of teachers has resulted in you covering a wide range of topics, to be sure, but there has as of yet been no central theme holding these fractured topics together. I am not convinced that any of you understand what 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' truly means, and that is why I am here.

"The Dark Arts, you see, are not solely practiced by people wearing black robes and face-concealing masks. In fact, those most likely to use the Darks Arts against you are those you trust the most: teachers, friends, even family. The times you are most likely to be attacked are those at which you are least likely to be on your guard against it.

"As such, I will start by teaching you how to recognise the signs that not all is right in a relationship, and what you should do if you have suspicions that a loved one has turned Dark." Kinder paused for effect, and looked at each of them in turn. "I know that many of you will resist this idea. You will think of your trusted mentors, you best friends, the people who have raised you from birth, and find laughable the thought that they could possibly wish you harm. 'Why,' you may ask, 'would my guardian hurt me?'

"To that, I can give you no answer. Nobody knows why any given witch or wizard is seduced by the Dark Arts, only know that it does happen, with far greater frequency than you could imagine, and that when it does, nothing and nobody matters to them anymore. I have seen children beaten, hexed, forced to swallow experimental potions, and even Obliviated afterward so that they could not give evidence. I am here to prepare you to spot the warning signs, and to teach you how to get out of such a situation before it reaches this level."

"That Kinder bloke is more paranoid than Moody," Ron moaned when class finally let out. Kinder had continued to lecture them in this vein for the entirety of the double period, and those who hadn't fallen asleep had endured a whole string of descriptions of things abusive teachers or guardians had done to children, each more gruesome than the last. "He must have really hated his parents…"

"Or he's trying to get other people to hate theirs," Harry said darkly. He, for one, didn't have any doubt as to Kinder's motives.

* * *

The rest of the week didn't get any better. As if Kinder's lectures, Quidditch practice, Hagrid's continued absence, and the mountains of homework weren't enough, Harry still had makeup exams that weekend, and he'd been so preoccupied with the hearing and with Voldemort that he hadn't studied all summer.

Harry could think of few things worse than dragging himself out of bed at eight o'clock on a Saturday morning to take a string of tests, except perhaps being woken an hour early by Peeves dumping ice water into his bed.

By the time he had stood under a hot shower long enough to stop shivering, he barely had enough time to grab breakfast. After dashing down to the Great Hall long enough to grab a piece of toast and shove it into his mouth, he barely made it in time to his first test, Charms.

Professor Flitwick was as diminutive and excitable as ever. He started by giving Harry a short written exam, followed by a considerably longer practical test. By the time he had finished demonstrating Levitation Charms, Cheering Charms, Summoning Charms (at which he failed miserably), and Banishing Charms for Professor Flitwick, who squealed excitedly at each of Harry's successes, the morning was nearly half over. Harry left the classroom with a feeling of relief, sure that he had passed at least one of his exams.

For the second test of the day he traipsed out to Hagrid's cabin, but of course Hagrid wasn't there waiting for him. It was Professor Grubbly-Plank, who explained that she had been assigned to test him in Care of Magical Creatures in the absence of his regular teacher.

"When's Hagrid going to be back?" he asked, somehow knowing all along that it was no good.

"Never you mind," Professor Grubbly-Plank said, just as he had predicted. "Now let's see… fourth-year curriculum…"

Professor Grubbly-Plank had not prepared a written test; as a matter of fact, she seemed not to have prepared for this at all. That did not mean, however, that her test was easy.

The test consisted entirely of Professor Grubbly-Plank standing in front of Hagrid's cabin firing questions at him, which Harry tried to answer as best he could. She took no notes and gave no indication as to how he was doing, only stood there with her pipe in her mouth and occasionally nodded her head. Some of the topics she asked him about were ones Hagrid had not covered, and these Harry mostly stumbled his way through; he did, however, take pride in being able to describe the care and habits of Nifflers, hippogriffs, and unicorns. When they were through she gave him a brisk nod.

"Jolly good, Potter," she said. "You'll get your results in three days' time."

"Where's—" Harry tried to ask again, but Professor Grubbly-Plank was already walking away.

There was nothing more for Harry to do but return to the castle for lunch and try to do a bit of last-minute cramming for his third exam of the day, Transfiguration. He was helped a good deal by listening to Hermione, who had joined them at the Gryffindor table along with Ron, and who spent the entirety of the lunch hour giving him pointers. She was still chattering away when Harry realised he had five minutes to get to McGonagall's office and dashed away, barely hearing their cries of "Good luck!"

McGonagall, though a fair teacher, was also one of the stricter ones. Her eyebrows rose higher and her mouth grew thinner each time he failed to transfigure the kitten she had given him into a ball of yarn. His new wand just didn't seem to want to _work_ for him properly – not like the old one had. He eventually managed to make it grow round and separate into something resembling string, even if it did still purr when touched and have whiskers. At that she dismissed him with a hint of a raised eyebrow and Harry was allowed to escape to the greenhouses, missing his old wand more than ever.

Professor Sprout seemed to have combined the oral and practical exams into one. Thankfully she didn't tell him to repot any mandarkes, but she did have him collect bubotuber pus and ask questions while he was doing it. After she had gone through several other lessons from the previous year, she declared herself satisfied and allowed him to go wash up.

He returned to the Great Hall, exhausted and with a good deal of dirt still under his fingernails, just in time for dinner. Ron and Hermione had saved him a spot at the Gryffindor table.

"So how'd it go?" Ron asked as Harry shoveled a very large helping of roast beef onto his plate.

"Well, I think I've passed all today's tests at least," Harry replied after he had managed to swallow his first mouthful. "But tomorrow I've got History of Magic, Divination, Potions, and Defense." He shuddered. This was quickly turning into the worst weekend of his Hogwarts career.

"Any word on who'll be testing you in Defense?" Hermione asked.

"No idea." Harry felt his eyes drift toward the Head Table, where Kinder seemed to be deep in conversation with Professor Sprout. He was hoping that Dumbledore would call Professor Moody back, since he had taught last year's class after all, but knowing his luck he wouldn't be making any bets on it.

He didn't have much time to dwell on tomorrow, though, since he spent the rest of the evening studying before making his way up to the Astronomy Tower to do his final test of the day. Harry got the feeling that he had barely scraped through his Astronomy test, since he was far too tired to actually think about what he was doing. In the end he managed to fill in his star chart by scribbling down whatever he had learned by rote last year; after turning that in to Professor Sinistra, he trudged back to Gryffindor Tower where he collapsed into bed and was asleep before he knew it.

* * *

The next morning wasn't much better. The only good thing Harry had to say about the entire day was that this morning, at least, was poltergeist-free.

His first exam of the day was History of Magic. He read over Hermione's notes one last time while shoveling down his breakfast, before hurrying off to Professor Binns's classroom. As usual, the ghost didn't say a word to him, only bobbed up and down at the front of the classroom while Harry wrote essays on the piece of parchment that had been waiting on his desk.

He finished the test as quickly as possible, making up a few names in the process; fortunately History of Magic wasn't a class he particularly cared about. He managed to get through the test quickly enough to have a respectable amount of time to study Potions, which he did until it was time for his Divination exam.

Divination was by far the easiest of that weekend's tests. When Professor Trelawney asked him to make a prediction about his future based on the movements of the planets, he resorted to his usual fallback and made something up. He predicted first a prolonged torture (thanks to a transit of Venus) and told her that he would suddenly be blinded because of the conjunction of Uranus and Neptune, and Trelawney (to his amusement) awarded him full marks and allowed him to leave early. He spent the rest of the morning studying for Potions.

Snape was just as nasty as ever. He assigned Harry the most difficult potion they had learned the previous year, all the while making snide remarks about Harry's work. The fact that the Slytherins were not there to snigger at Snape's comments was offset by the fact that the lack of other students left Snape free to focus his full attention on tormenting Harry. In the end, though, he managed to produce a potion that was, if not the shimmery cyan colour it was supposed to be, at least vaguely blue. Snape's lip curled in distaste when Harry brought a vial to his desk to be graded.

"Substandard as ever, Potter," he sneered. "Very well, you may go to your next exam while I evaluate this mess."

Harry made his way to the Dark Arts classroom, his ears burning. He might manage to produce a decent potion if Snape weren't constantly hovering over him like an overgrown bat, but then again, since when had Snape ever been fair to him?

He had to suppress a groan when he opened the door to the classroom where his final test would be held and saw Professor Kinder facing him.

"You're five minutes late," Kinder said when he opened the door.

"I was finishing my Potions exam," Harry replied wearily. "Sir."

"Very well, then." Kinder gestured to the front of the classroom. Reluctantly, Harry stood in front of the desks.

"We will begin with some basic defensive spells. Now, if you would first tell me the incantation for the Disarming Charm, and then demonstrate the wand motion that goes with it…"

He had Harry do the same thing for Stunning Spells, the Body Bind hex, and Shield Charms. Harry had just let himself dare hope that he might get off lightly after all when Kinder gestured to a desk at the front of the classroom and ordered him to sit.

"You have demonstrated quite an aptitude for using basic defensive spells," Kinder said, sitting down in another desk that had been turned to face Harry's. "What I would like to test you on, however, is your ability to distinguish the correct context in which such spells are appropriate."

Harry groaned inwardly. Of course it would come down to this.

"Now, outside of classes or practice, when was the last time you put these or any similar spells, hexes, or jinxes to practical use?"

"At the end of last year, when I fought Voldemort," Harry replied bluntly.

"_Do not say the name!_" Kinder snapped, wincing. "Are you quite sure that that is what really happened?"

"Yes."

"Very well, then," Kinder said, with the air of letting Harry have his way because it was easier than arguing with him rather than because he actually believed what Harry was saying. "Do you think you could tell me what happened that night?"

Harry froze. He hadn't talked about that night in the graveyard in any detail since telling the story to Dumbledore in St. Mungo's, and at the thought of telling it again his palms grew sweaty and his heart beat so hard it felt like it was trying to break out of his ribcage.

Unfortunately, Kinder saw the panic in his eyes. He leaned forward, so that he and Harry were eye-to-eye.

"Harry," he said softly, "you can't remember what happened, can you?"

"Yes I can!" Harry said, wishing he could keep the pleading note out of his voice. "I remember exactly what happened."

"Then why won't you tell me? I assure you I won't think less of you—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry snapped. Abruptly he stood, slinging his books over his shoulder. "Are we done yet?"

Kinder sighed and stood up as well. "Yes, you may go." Harry walked from the classroom as quickly as he could, fighting the urge to run.

* * *

**A/N:** Who all was surprised that I didn't have Umbridge teaching Defense? My original outline followed canon in having Umbridge as the new teacher, but after I actually started writing I realized that there were several good reasons for me to use someone else. The Ministry is taking a somewhat different view of Harry in this timeline, and as such Fudge's goals in planting a teacher are also quite different. In short, even though Umbridge theoretically does whatever the Ministry wants, I just couldn't see her (much less write her) attempting to be a motherly figure, or making an honest effort to connect to students. I have no idea how people will react to this - Umbridge may be the most hated character in the entire fandom, but she's also the character people love to hate. At any rate, she'll still have a role to play in this timeline, just not at Hogwarts.

The graveyard: Harry had a hard enough time telling the story in canon, and that was more than six months after it happened, with support from Hermione, when he knew there was a very important reason for getting the truth to the public. This time, not only is he being asked much sooner, but the experience in the graveyard was also considerably worse.

Kinder again: I tried very, _very_ hard to write this in such as way as to make it understandable that Harry's actions and reactions would be misinterpreted. So, while _we_ know what's actually going on and so does Harry, from the perspective of an outsider who wasn't present at the cemetery or the Quidditch World Cup, a lot of what's been going on is looking pretty bad.

Title of next chapter: A Friendly Chat


	23. YEAR5 A Friendly Chat

**Disclaimer:** Hey everybody! J. K. Rowling here! I'm not satisfied with my books as they were originally written, so I got an account on FFnet under a different penname, started writing in American English, and expect everybody reading this to send me money on nothing but my word that it's really me. Also, they took the word "gullible" out of the dictionary.

* * *

It seemed to Harry that he was in a continually bad mood for the next couple of weeks. Professor Kinder's questioning him about what had happened in the graveyard had brought back some very unpleasant memories, and Harry had started having nightmares nearly every time he slept. When he wasn't reliving the night of Voldemort's return, he often dreamed about running down a dark corridor toward a locked door and woke with his scar prickling. Though he had dutifully informed Sirius of the recurring dream and the pain that accompanied it, he hadn't got any answers as to what it might mean.

"Harry, you need to stop _thinking_ about that corridor," Hermione said when, once again, he started speculating about what it might mean. "That's all you ever talk about since we've come back; it's as if you've become obsessed!"

"I know that it means something, Hermione!" he said for what felt like the hundredth time that month. "_Voldemort's_ the one obsessing over something in there, wherever it is, and I want to know what!"

"That's what the Order is for!" Hermione shot back, again for what felt like the hundredth time. Her eyes softened marginally. "Look, Harry, I'm sure that if it were important for you to know, Dumbledore would have told you. He wouldn't just keep you in the dark for no reason."

"Yeah, well, Dumbledore never tells me anything anymore." The mention of Dumbledore had made Harry's already bad mood even worse.

Hermione, sensing danger, quickly steered away from the delicate topic. "You can't worry about these dreams all the time, even if they are important," she said gently. "Right now you ought to be focussing on your O.W.L.s. I really think we should get started on McGonagall's homework..."

"Actually, I'd like to study Wolfsbane a bit more."

Hermione sighed but didn't argue, probably relieved that he'd taken an interest in something that had academic merit. Ever since he'd explained what Sirius was trying to do, he and Hermione had spent what free time they could get together studying the Wolfsbane potion. They had yet to get past theory; Hermione had said she didn't dare try brewing it yet, for fear of causing an explosion or worse. So he doggedly studied the N.E.W.T. level Potions book they had taken out of the library, heavily relying on Hermione's help to interpret the instructions. So far he considered himself lucky to understand one word in three, but he was determined that someday he would know it completely.

Remus had done so much for him over the past few years, and Harry was determined to give him at least this much in return.

* * *

The dreams of the corridor were not the only thing on his mind, however, and as soon as he got a moment alone he used the mirror to tell Sirius about Kinder.

"When he questioned me at the Ministry he kept trying to trip me into saying you were abusive," Harry said all at once, "and now he's trying to get me to talk about what happened in the graveyard, but I can't, I just c-cant, and he thinks that means that you've brainwashed me into thinking that that happened even though it really didn't and that I don't want to tell him because I can't remember it even though I _can_—"

"He tried to get you to talk about the graveyard?" Sirius's face paled. "That _bastard!_" he growled. "I'm going to come over there and—"

"_Don't!_" Harry shouted back. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. "If you try to keep him from asking me about it, it'll look like you're trying to cover for yourself. So don't."

"So I'm supposed to just sit at home and let him do this to you?" Sirius's voice now sounded so much like a growl that Harry could barely make out the end of his sentence.

"Let me deal with him! He's my problem—"

"From the things you've been telling me, he's been trying to make himself my problem as well." Sirius crossed his arms. "Just how do you plan to deal with him, Harry?"

"I don't know…"

"Then you should leave this Kinder to me."

"Sirius—"

But the mirror had already gone dark.

* * *

It took Harry several hours to get to sleep that night, and when he finally did manage it he had a nightmare in which Sirius was sentenced to receive the Dementor's Kiss. He woke early the next morning, feeling shaky, sweaty, and not at all rested.

A hot shower got him back to an almost-functioning state, but he still stumbled down to breakfast with dry, scratchy eyes and a dull pounding in his head. He had loaded up his plate with everything he thought he could manage to keep down and was just raising his fork to his mouth when Hermione's voice cut through the fog in his head.

"Would you look at this!"

"What?" Harry lowered the fork and managed to focus on the _Daily Prophet_ she had shoved under his nose. "Why are you still reading that rubbish?"

"Just look at this!" she repeated, ignoring him.

Harry groggily accepted the paper and turned to the article she had indicated.

_**House-Elf for Sale**_

_ Age: Six months_

_ Sex: Female_

_ Price: 1000 Galleons_

_ House-Elf bred from very good stock; both parents excellent workers who have never talked back and follow orders without question. Still of an age to be smoothly bonded to a new master. Any interested parties should contact Bacchus Seldon, Seldon Manor._

"A House-Elf for sale? Hermione, what—?"

"Would you just look at that!" Hermione said, slamming the paper down onto the table. "They're placing ads for House-Elves as if they were _property_, with no feelings at all! Civilised nations outgrew this generations ago!"

"Why is anybody selling a House-Elf?" Harry asked groggily. Had he been more awake, he might have thought better of the question. "I thought they ran in families."

"Well, they do," replied Ron, "but most of the new money are going to want a House-Elf to prove how rich they are and they have to get one somewhere." Ron scratched his nose. "They can always hire a House-Elf who's been freed, of course, but they usually only get freed for doing something really bad, and those tend to be loyal to their former masters anyway—"

Hermione slammed her glass onto the table hard enough to splash pumpkin juice all over her plate and Harry's robes. Without a word she slung her bag over her shoulder, got up from the table and stalked out of the Great Hall, face flushed.

"I think we might have really upset her," said Harry as they picked up their own books and set off for History of Magic. This was proving to be another bad day.

"So what?" said Ron. "If she'd just drop this ridiculous _spew_ thing…" Harry couldn't help but notice, however, that Ron didn't quite meet his eye when he said it, or that he was fidgeting guiltily with the straps of his bag.

The rest of the day only got worse. Given that it was a Monday and that Harry therefore had all of his least favourite classes in a row it was bound to be bad anyway, but this time it was exceptionally trying. Hermione didn't speak to them all through Potions, and without her help Harry's attempt at the assignment (the Strengthening Solution) came out even worse than usual. She didn't even offer him any words of consolation after Snape vanished his potion with a smirk on his face.

Divination was, if possible, even worse. Harry couldn't even make the effort to pretend he was paying attention, and Ron spent the entirety of the lesson squirming around on his chair as if he were sitting on broken glass. When Trelawney instructed them to write down and interpret their most recent dreams, Harry just slumped onto the table and stared at the wood.

"Tell me why I signed up for this class again," he muttered to Ron under his breath.

"Because you were a prat who couldn't make decisions for himself," Ron whispered back, grinning to show he wasn't serious.

Unfortunately, Trewlawney seemed to have heard them. She marched straight over to their table and told Harry, quite loudly, to tell the class his latest dream and his interpretation thereof.

Harry panicked. He knew full well what his recent nightmares meant, and he wasn't about to share them with the class.

_Just make something up_, he thought. _It's Divination, it should be easy to make something up!_ Unfortunately, with Trelawney glaring down at him with a look that was much better suited to McGonagall, Harry's mind went completely blank. Helplessly, he looked toward Ron, who shrugged his shoulders as if to say, _You're on your own, mate._

"Very well, then," Trelawney snapped. "Ten points from Gryffindor and a nightly dream diary for this week's homework. And I will check to see that you have filled it out!"

It seemed to take an eternity for Divination to let out. As the Gryffindors descended the ladder, bemoaning the amount of homework they had for the week, Harry and Ron exchanged gloomy looks.

"D'you reckon Trelawney's been taking lessons from McGonagall?" Harry asked.

"Might be." Ron scuffed his shoe against the floor. "Say, Harry? What happened back there? You usually don't have any trouble just making something up…"

Harry took a look around at their fellow Gryffindors, most of whom were still talking among themselves. "I'll tell you later," he said, lowering his voice just in case. "Just not here, okay?"

Thankfully, Ron took the hint. "Blimey, though, I think she's on to us," he said in a more normal speaking voice.

"Well, who wouldn't be, after you've so obviously made everything up?" Hermione had come up behind them, and judging by her snappishness she still hadn't forgiven them for that morning.

"Who in his right mind would put effort into that load of rubbish?" Ron retorted, ignoring the scandalised looks he was getting from Lavender and Parvati. "That's a full class period I could've spent doing something useful, gone to waste!"

"Oh, something useful?" Hermione said acidly. "Do you mean something useful as in playing games, or perhaps falling asleep?" They continued bickering all the way down to Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Harry chose a seat on the other side of the room.

Defense Against the Dark Arts had continued to be an exercise in frustration for the first month of the school year. Professor Kinder, for the most part, didn't even seem to be aware that he was teaching in a school of magic; he had never once let them take their wands out during a class. Instead, he had spent the entirety of every class period lecturing them on the subject of abuse of children by their parents or guardians, on how to tell whether a friend was being abused, and where to get help if one had such suspicions.

Though only a week ago Harry would have said that it was impossible for Defense class to get any worse, today's class seemed ready to prove him wrong. When Kinder started the class by announcing that they had finished lectures and would now move on to practical exercises, Harry groaned quietly. While such an announcement would have piqued his interest had it been coming from any other teacher, he was somehow sure that nothing Kinder had them do would be worth the trouble.

True to form, Kinder's idea of a "practical" exercise didn't even involve using magic. Instead, he had each of them in turn come to the front of the classroom where, he said, they were to pretend he was a sexual predator and demonstrate the appropriate reaction.

He called them up in alphabetical order, and in spite of his impending sense of doom Harry watched his classmates' trials with no small amount of amusement. For some reason Lavender seemed to find the situation to be very funny, and barely stopped giggling long enough to say her line. Seamus's turn was even funnier; he pretended to come on to Professor Kinder, sending the class into gales of laughter which was well worth the twenty points Kinder docked from Gryffindor.

"Sit down, Mr. Finnegan," Kinder barked as the class continued to snigger. Seamus took his seat, still smirking.

"I am surprised that any of you think this is _funny_," Kinder continued, crossing his arms. "It is apparent to me that none of you have given serious thought to the topic I am trying to teach you, which I am hard-pressed to understand given that it may save your lives one day." He paused, tapping his foot while the sniggers died down. "Miss Granger."

Hermione came to the front of the class and said her line primly, without any giggling. Neville, however, could barely stop stuttering when his turn came, and after a full minute managed to stammer out a "N-n-n-no," after which Kinder let him sit back down. Parvati, though she wasn't giggling as much as Lavender, still seemed to be incapable of keeping a straight face and had to hide her mouth behind her hand as soon as she was done. Then it was Harry's turn.

He said his line as quickly as possible. He knew that his "No. Get away from me," sounded pretty flat, but he wanted to get this over with. If the giggles of his classmates and Kinder's frown were anything to go by, he hadn't sounded very convincing.

That left only Dean, who sent the class once again into gales of laughter with his over-the-top acting, and Ron, who yawned loudly after his turn. Once they were all seated again, Professor Kinder looked at them, frowning.

"I can see that none of you are taking this seriously. Now, let's try it again…"

The exercise had grown considerably less amusing by the time the class finally let out. Most of the Gryffindors were staring into space with their mouths hanging open; for his part, Harry felt that he would rather _incendio_ his own tongue than say, "No! Leave me alone!" one more time—even if this time around his hatred of Kinder made him sound perfectly sincere.

The worst, however, was yet to come. Harry was just packing up his bag when Kinder said, "Mr. Potter, I would like to speak to you for a moment after class." Harry shot a look at Ron and Hermione, who upon hearing had begun to pack their bags with deliberate slowness. "The rest of you may leave."

Harry stood in front of Kinder's desk while everyone else made their way from the room. After the last student had left, Kinder flicked his wand toward the classroom door, which slammed shut.

"I would like you to have some tea with me this afternoon, Harry," he said. "Is four o'clock a convenient time for you?"

"Um, actually I—"

"Harry, I have already checked your schedule and I know that you have neither classes nor Quidditch practice at this time." Kinder picked up a stack of papers and began sorting them. "I will see you at four."

After that, Harry had no choice but to leave the classroom. As predicted, Ron and Hermione were waiting outside.

"What did Kinder want with you?" Ron asked the second he came out.

"Tea." He started walking back to Gryffindor Tower, leaving his friends to follow in his wake.

"Tea?" Hermione had caught up to him and was looking at him with her mouth hanging open. "Why would Professor Kinder want to have tea with you?"

"Maybe he fancies me," Harry said sarcastically. "Mimbulus Mimbletonia." The portrait hole swung open.

"Just tea? Did he say anything else?" Ron asked.

"Nope." Harry dropped his bag and sank into the nearest armchair, staring gloomily into the fire. "When he questioned me at the Ministry, though, he kept trying to get me to say that Sirius was abusive. He's probably trying to cosy up to me so I'll confide in him." Harry snorted. "Fat chance."

"Why's he so fixated on you, though?" Ron asked, sitting next to him. "Is it because the Ministry is trying to get you away from Sirius?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so, actually." At their questioning looks he scratched the back of his head while he tried to justify his statement. "Look, it's like this—when he questioned me at the Ministry, and he kept trying to get me to say that Sirius was abusive?" They nodded. "Well, it wasn't like he was actually trying to find out the truth."

"We _know_ that, Harry," Hermione said gently. "Fudge _wanted_ him to get evidence that Sirius was abusive, so they'd have a reason to separate you." But Harry shook his head.

"No, it wasn't like that. He—he actually believed what he was saying. Nobody's that good an actor." He closed his eyes. "It's almost like…"

"Like Fudge didn't order Kinder to come to that conclusion, but picked Kinder because he knew that's what he would do?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded. "If you're saying what I think you're saying, then yeah."

Ron was looking back and forth between the two of them. "Wait, what did she say?"

Harry sighed and leaned back into the cushions of his chair. "She's saying that Kinder would think I was being abused no matter what, and that that's why Fudge picked _him_ to question me."

"So what are you going to do?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. He didn't know either.

* * *

"Come in."

Harry fought down a sense of déjà vu as he was forcibly reminded of the last time he'd faced a closed door with Kinder on the other side. Gritting his teeth, he turned the handle.

Unlike under its previous occupants the room was now meticulously neat, and so impersonal it could just as easily have belonged to a Muggle businessman. Every piece of furniture in the room looked as if it had been straightened with a ruler, then dusted and polished so thoroughly that it shone. Even the papers on Kinder's desk were stacked neatly on top of each other, with not a single sheet out of line.

"Ah yes, Harry." He waved his wand, and the papers flew off of his desk and settled themselves in a nearby drawer, still perfectly aligned. "Please, have a seat."

The sense of déjà vu increased. Harry sat stiffly in the chair in front of Kinder's desk, the overwhelming _neatness_ of the room giving him the feeling that he'd be in trouble if he moved anything even an inch out of place.

Kinder waved his wand again and a steaming teapot appeared on the table, along with two cups and saucers. He poured out the tea with great precision and handed the first cup to Harry, who set it on the table in front of him but didn't drink.

Professor Kinder was looking at him over the rim of his cup. "Is something the matter, Harry?"

To buy himself time Harry picked up his teacup and pretended to take a sip. After nearly dribbling it down the front of his robes instead, he gave it up as a bad job and put the cup back down.

"Why do you think Sirius is abusing me?" he asked bluntly.

Judging by the Defense teacher's raised eyebrow, this was not the direction he had expected the conversation to take. Other than that, however, he remained externally composed. "Why do you continue to insist that he isn't?"

"Because he _isn't_," Harry snapped. He struggled to fight down his anger, suspecting that losing it in front of Kinder would only get Sirius in trouble.

"Harry." Kinder folded his hands in front of him and looked across the table with an intense gaze. "Are you aware, exactly, of what constitutes abuse?"

"Whatever it is, Sirius isn't doing it."

"I see." He poured milk into his tea with an expression that clearly said he thought Harry was in denial. "Are you aware, then, of what happened this morning?"

Harry stiffened in his chair. He could guess what had happened, but he was hoping against hope that he was wrong.

"This morning," Kinder continued, "your godfather burst into my office with his wand drawn, looking to be in quite a temper. He said that he wanted to talk to me. About you."

Kinder paused, apparently for effect, giving Harry just enough time to panic. What, exactly, had Sirius said?

"What he told me then was that I was to have no contact with you outside of class, and that if I went about asking you about anything that happened last year he would come back here and hex me." Kinder looked at Harry intently, his tea apparently forgotten. "It sounded very much as if there were something he didn't want you to tell me."

"No! It wasn't like that at all! It—"

Harry slammed to a halt as images of the graveyard popped unbidden into his mind. Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Riddle's grave. Nagini…

"Then what was it that he didn't want me to talk to you about?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Harry stood and picked up his bag. "Can I go?"

Kinder sighed, but vanished the tea with a wave of his wand. "Yes, you may go."

Harry hurried from the office as fast as he could without running.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, the good news is that I'm writing again. It's been coming at a snail's pace, but it _is_ coming. Lost files aside, if you've ever gotten into a new fandom you probably know that they tend to take over everything for awhile, but I think that I'm finally starting to regain some measure of balance. Once again, this is why I write with a buffer.

One big mistake I made in the first draft of Year 5 was making Harry _way_ too passive in his interactions with Kinder. While it would be a bad idea for Harry to fly off the handle altogether and he tends to be much better at controlling his temper for others' sake than for his own, I still can't see him just sitting there and doing nothing when Kinder starts pulling some of the shit that he does.

The selling of House-Elves is speculation on my part; while I know from Kreacher and Winky that their servitude tends to be a generational thing, I think I had Ron give a decent explanation as to why there would be one for sale. We didn't see much of the private lives of House-Elves in the actual books, and I wouldn't be surprised if things got quite a bit nastier than even the extreme abuse we know Dobby and Kreacher went through. This is a topic I intend to take seriously, including further exploration in later chapters, and I admit to drawing some inspiration from my own country's admittedly rather ugly history with slavery.

Title of next chapter: "Ministry Interference"


	24. YEAR5 Ministry Interference

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Harry Potter... well, there were a lot of things I would've done differently. But the fact remains that J. K. Rowling is a published author and I'm not, so she must have known what she was doing. I, meanwhile, am just trying to entertain myself (and others). Enjoy!

* * *

As Halloween came and went and the first week of November began, Kinder's classes finally got interesting. After several more "practical exercises" that were entirely verbal, at long last he told them to take out their wands for some practise at counteracting curses.

The first truly practical class was entirely defensive. Kinder started by teaching them _finite incantatem_ before putting them into pairs and instructing them to take turns jinxing each other so that they could practise undoing spells against themselves.

"Now remember," Kinder barked as they stood across from the partners he had assigned them, "you are to use the Leg-Locker Curse and the Jelly-Legs Jinx _only_. Absolutely _no_ Stunners, Body-Binds, or curses capable of causing physical damage or pain are to be used. Now, I want everyone to attempt to cancel the jinx and get back on your feet before your partner can get within arm's reach of you—begin!"

This class was actually quite fun, and by the end of the lesson Harry had managed to remove Parvati's Leg-Locker Curse and get to his feet before she had taken even three steps toward him. It was the first of Kinder's classes in which he felt he had actually learned something.

"It's a shame, really," Hermione said as they walked back to Gryffindor Tower. "Kinder could be such a good teacher if he'd just… just…"

"Stop projecting his paranoid fantasies onto us and actually _teach?_" Harry said acidly. Hermione nodded her head with a small sigh.

"You know that tomorrow he's just going to start lecturing us again on how are parents are bound to try to pull this rubbish on us," Ron said grumpily. He was still walking funnily from Dean's last Jelly-Legs Jinx, which he had not been able to completely remove.

Ron's prediction, however, turned out to be in error. Kinder continued with practical lessons in the classes that followed, and over the next month they practised Disarming each other and repelling jinxes with the Shield Charm. For a couple of classes he even made them practise dodging spells with no wand at all, an exercise at which no one excelled.

Though Harry's Seeker reflexes gave him an edge at first, it wasn't long before he began to tire. Very soon he was panting for breath, and not long after that he stepped to the side a little too slowly and was hit squarely in the chest by Hermione's Tickling Charm.

"Thanks," he muttered as Hermione performed a _finite_.

"You're welcome." She handed over both of their wands to him. "Your turn."

Hermione went down fast: she only managed to dodge two of his spells before Harry hit her with a Leg-Locker Curse. She took her wand back with no more than a look of disappointment, but by their third round she was nearly in tears.

"Why am I so _bad_ at this?" she moaned as class let out and they moved to collect their things.

Harry and Ron gave each other an awkward look. Harry hadn't wanted to insult her by going easy, but now he was beginning to wonder whether he shouldn't have let up a bit near the end. Hermione was not used to losing, or to being unable to master magical techniques; he should have known she wouldn't take it well. Still, if ever she found herself facing Death Eaters, they definitely weren't going to hold back either…

"Nobody can be good at everything," he reminded her helplessly. She continued to shove books viciously into her bag.

To his surprise, Ron came to the rescue. "It's not exactly that you're bad at it." She glared at him. "W-well, it's true!" he sputtered. "You're really good at casting spells, but this is more athletic, like. Harry and I both play Quidditch, so we've built up the reflexes already. You just need a bit more practice, that's all."

Hermione was looking at him as if she had never quite seen him properly before. Ron's face got even redder under the scrutiny. "What?"

"Are you offering to help me practise this?"

"Well, yeah! Th-that is, if you want to."

"Thank you, Ron," she said. "I'd like that." She leaned forward and gave him a light kiss on the cheek before she walked away.

Harry had thought earlier that Ron's face couldn't possibly get any redder, but was immediately proven wrong.

* * *

Ron and Hermione got along unprecedentedly well for the next week, and Harry for one welcomed the change. It was wonderful to be able to spend time with his two best friends without having to listen to them bicker constantly, and though he was sure it wouldn't last long he was determined to enjoy it while it did.

He should have known, however, that fate wouldn't allow him to have peace of mind for very long. All three of them were in the Common Room several nights later, finishing up a Potions essay for Snape, when an owl appeared at the window.

"Isn't that Hermes?" said Hermione.

"Blimey, it is! What's Percy writing to me for?" Ron opened the letter, spreading it over the table so that all three of them could read it.

_Dear Ron,_

_ I have only just heard (from a person no less than the Minister of Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Kinder) that you have become a Hogwarts prefect._

_ I was most pleasantly surprised when I heard this news and must first offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the "Fred and George" route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing that you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility._

_ But I want to give you more than congratulations. Ron, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at night rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully you will be able to read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions._

_ From something the Minister let slip while telling me you are now a prefect, I gather that you are still seeing a lot of Harry Potter. I must tell you, Ron, that many at the Ministry are dearly afraid for Potter's well-being both physical and mental, and that you need to be there for him and help him in any way you can._

_ Given recent events you probably will not be surprised to hear this, but I think it safe to assume that you have little understanding of the true gravity of the situation. You will no doubt say that Potter seems fine and that he denies any wrongdoing on the part of his godfather—but keep in mind that I have been in touch with Iago Kinder (Professor Kinder to you), who questioned him at the Ministry and to whom it was plain that Potter was in deep denial about his situation. I am also given to understand that he has since refused all offers of help, and that he has been through at least one ordeal—I am sure I need not tell you at whose hands—the mere mention of which fills him with terror._

_ It is quite clear to those of us who are familiar with the situation that those responsible for Potter have little actual care for his wellbeing, and that he is in dire need of help from someone who does. Unfortunately the Ministry's last attempt at removing him from Black's dubious care was unsuccessful, as Potter was clearly too intimidated by the prospect of retaliation to speak against him. In light of this news, you will no doubt be happy to hear that Potter's welfare will soon be in the hands of those who actually do have his best interests at heart. I know you will say that Dumbledore has an unprecedented amount of influence on how the boy is raised, but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different—and, I may say, more accurate—view of Potter's needs._

_ As for the even more urgent situation with Black, I am afraid the time has come for the Ministry to take drastic measures. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow you will see what I mean. I will say, however, that this is bound to be a very difficult time for Potter, who as I believe I mentioned has persisted in remaining in denial that he needs help. As such, there is no doubt that he will at first be unappreciative of the steps the Ministry is taking to provide it, but I urge you to keep in mind that we are doing this for Potter's own good. My hope is that he will come around sooner rather than later, and that he will thank the Ministry most profusely for removing him from a dangerous situation even though he does not currently see it as such._

_ To this end I will ask you to do everything in your power to help Potter through this difficult time by helping him see that the Ministry is thinking only of his well-being. Now, I am well aware that you might be afraid to bring the subject up with him—as I am given to understand, he seems to have picked up some of Black's more violent tendencies. If you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in Potter's behaviour that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Iago Kinder, a really delightful man, who I know will be only too happy to advise you._

_ I am sorry that I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticise our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain so wilfully ignorant of Potter's situation. I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with people who openly support Dumbledore and Black—the Minister really could not be more gracious to me—and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realise how mistaken they were and that Potter will be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes._

_ Please think over what I have said most carefully, and congratulations again on becoming prefect._

_ Your brother,_

_ Percy_

"'Drastic measures'?" Hermione said when they had all finished reading. "What are they going to _do?_"

"Azkaban?" It was the one word going through Harry's mind right now, filling it up until there wasn't room for anything else. "Azkaban _again?_"

"Oh, surely not," Hermione said. "They already tried that once, remember, and it didn't work."

"Yeah, and I don't reckon he'd go quietly, would he?" put in Ron. "I mean, he could hide out at headquarters forever and nobody'd be able to find him."

"I suppose." Harry still felt dubious, though. "I want to talk to him—hold on a minute." He sprinted back up to the boys' dormitory and dug the mirror out of his trunk, being careful not to wake Neville, Seamus, or Dean.

"Good thinking, mate!" said Ron as he came back down the stairs, mirror in hand.

Harry held the mirror where all of them could see it. "Sirius."

The reflections of their faces blurred, and when the image solidified again they were looking at a black space that Harry had come to recognize as the inside of Sirius's pocket. He waited patiently as Sirius removed the mirror and turned it around to face him.

"Hey, Harry." He was smiling, but he sounded worn out, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He yawned. "So what's the occasion? Or is this purely a social call?"

Harry launched into the tale of Percy's letter, helped on occasion by Ron and Hermione. Sirius gave the occasional nod to show he was listening, but didn't interrupt.

"—and Kinder still thinks you're abusing me, and nothing I say can convince him otherwise, and Percy said the Ministry would be taking 'drastic measures.' What if they try to send you back to Azkaban _again?_"

"I can see your concern, but I don't think that'll happen—"

"That's what you said _last_ time!"

"So I did. But they already tried it once—" Hermione shot Harry a triumphant look, "—and they're not likely to do it again." He yawned, his eyes drifting closed.

"Sirius?"

"Sorry." He propped the mirror up on the table in front of him and rested his head on his arms. "Had a late night. Remus had a spot of trouble with the Ministry…"

"With the Ministry?" Hermione frowned. "What happened?"

"You remember that Umbridge woman I told you about?" They all nodded. "Well, she's kept pretty busy these past few months. There've been a few strange disappearances these last few years—_we_ know that it's Voldemort's doing, but Umbridge managed to convince the Ministry that werewolves are responsible. So every known werewolf in the country is now being rounded up for 'questioning'."

"She didn't!"

"She did." Sirius grimaced. "Though the way I hear it, her original plan was to have the lot of them killed outright. I'm still not convinced that _isn't_ what she intends to do." In spite of his obvious exhaustion, there was a flash of anger in his eyes.

"What?!" Hermione said. "But I didn't see _anything_ about that in the _Prophet!_"

"No, you wouldn't have. The Ministry wants the whole thing kept quiet. Didn't want people like Remus to have any warning." He yawned again, a hand over his mouth.

"But that's—that's—that's sick!" Hermione exploded.

"So what happened, Sirius?" Harry asked.

"Well, Cedric somehow got wind of this—he's a great favourite of Fudge's, these days—and managed to get word to the Order. Remus was in Diagon Alley at the time, and I went after him to warn him. Trouble was, Magical Law Enforcement got there right when I did.

"We were outnumbered, and with my record trying to fight them would've been a bad idea. So I transformed in a nearby alley and let one of them see me."

"Let me guess," said Harry. "He thought you were a Grim?"

"Exactly." Sirius grinned. "James and I always got a good laugh playing that joke on random passerby… Anyway, he panicked, and while the rest of them were trying to calm him down Remus managed to give them the slip. He saw me in the alley and followed me—_he_ recognised me, of course—and we did our best to get lost in the side alleys. Unfortunately there were more of them wandering around, and they had people staked out on the same street as Headquarters, so we couldn't go back there, at least for the time being."

"Wait a minute," said Ron, "d'you reckon they know where Headquarters is?"

"No, almost certainly not; the Ministry had people all over London. We just didn't want to draw attention by going back there right away."

"So what did you do?" Harry asked.

"Well, we found an empty back alley, I transformed back, and we Apparated into the wood that's close by Alder Cottage. We couldn't get much in the way of news there, but it was a safe place and eventually Dumbledore got word to us that the street outside of Headquarters was still being watched and we weren't to go back until he let us know it was safe. Of course, that put us in a rather sticky situation."

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh my God," she gasped. "It was a full moon last night!"

"Exactly." Sirius allowed his head to sink further down onto his arms and closed his eyes. "I could keep him company as a dog, of course, but it's a lot harder with just one person and I couldn't let him run around outside. And a werewolf gets very restless if it's locked inside with nothing but a dog for company."

"Did he hurt you?" Harry asked, suddenly concerned.

"No—not badly, at least. I got a bit scratched up, but nothing too severe. He did a lot more damage to the house. I closed off your bedroom, of course, but I'm afraid your door will never be the same again… Anyway, I've spent most of today just cleaning up." He grimaced. "Wish I'd paid attention when your grandmother tried to teach me a few cleaning spells…"

"What about Remus?" Hermione prompted.

"He's fine," Sirius said. "He helped me out a bit after he changed back, then Apparated to Headquarters as soon as Dumbledore sent word the coast was clear. Of course, now that he's on the run from the Ministry he'll have to stay there for who knows how long." They were all silent for a very long moment, during which Sirius's eyelids slowly began to droop. And Harry, much as he wanted to talk to Sirius about what the Ministry might have in store for them, simply couldn't bring himself to do so when his godfather was so obviously exhausted.

"Hey, Sirius?"

"Hm?"

"Go get some sleep now. We can worry about this in the morning."

Sirius shot him a grateful smile. "I could say the same to you. Whatever 'drastic action' the Ministry is planning on taking, we'll deal with it when it gets here. But I promise you, Harry, I won't let them send you back to the Dursleys. Even if it does mean spiriting you away to America."

* * *

Harry shifted anxiously in his seat the next morning as the post owls streamed into the Great Hall. Hermione was scanning the incoming mail as well, though she seemed quite a bit calmer than he was.

"There it is—look!"

A large barn owl landed in front of her and dropped the _Daily Prophet_ into her bacon. Hermione dropped a Knut into its pouch while Harry and Ron unfolded the paper.

"Hogwarts High Inquisitor? _Him?_"

"That's what Percy must've meant by saying that Dumbledore might not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer."

"But what about the other thing Percy said?" Harry took hold of the paper, but Ron didn't seem to want to let go of it and Harry's hands were shaking so badly that he doubted he'd be able to turn the pages anyway.

"Here, let me." Hermione reached over, deftly plucked the paper out of their hands, and began flipping through the pages, her eyes rapidly scanning back and forth.

"Oh—oh, no, no, no! Oh, no, they _didn't!_"

"What?" Harry demanded. Hermione was sitting at the table as if frozen in place, her hands clenched so tightly on the paper that he was afraid she might rip it. "Hermione, _what?_"

Looking terrified, she moved the paper as if to hide it under the table, but Harry was too quick for her. In a second he had snatched it out of her hands and was scanning it furiously.

The article wasn't hard to find. There, in bold print, was the headline _**Ministry Takes Steps for the Protection of Orphans**_.

His hands shaking worse than ever, Harry read the article.

_In an act of sweeping reform, the Ministry of Magic has just finalised the Act for the Protection of Wizarding Orphans, which was passed into law this morning._

_ "It has come to our attention," says Iago Kinder, Hogwarts High Inquisitor (see front page) and one of the foremost proponents of the law, "that children raised by people other than their own parents are much more likely to suffer mistreatment and neglect. This law is designed to put protections in place by putting the care of all children of wizarding parentage under strict Ministry supervision."_

_ Kinder went on to explain the law in more detail. Anyone wishing to adopt or otherwise assume guardianship of any child with magical abilities will now be vetted by a strict Ministry screening process. Said screening will also apply to all members of the magical community who currently hold guardianship of a minor, who will meanwhile be placed in Ministry custody. Financial resources, emotional stability, physical and mental handicaps, and past criminal history will be among the factors taken into account._

Slowly, Harry set the paper down. Ron and Hermione were watching him with concerned looks on their faces.

"Blimey," said Ron. "Does this mean you're going to be forced to live with some Ministry toad?"

Harry groaned and rested his head on the table, wishing that Ron could be just a little more perceptive. "Yeah, it does." He wouldn't go, though; he had already made up his mind about that. If they couldn't resolve this by next summer, he would go into hiding with Sirius. Or run away to another country, if that's what it took.

* * *

**A/N:** If anyone wants me... I will be hiding under the nearest available rock.

Title of next chapter: "Two Horrible Holidays"


	25. YEAR5 Two Horrible Holidays

**Disclaimer:** Iago Kinder is mine, and he's a right git. So does it really surprise anyone that I don't own anything else?

* * *

Harry sat glumly at dinner on the last night before Christmas hols, morosely picking at his food. Every once in a while his eyes would drift, against his will, to the staff table, where Professor Kinder was attempting to hold a conversation with Professor McGonagall. At this distance it was impossible to hear what his Head of House was saying, but her eyebrows rose higher and higher every time Kinder spoke.

Kinder had continued to insist on having tea with Harry every Thursday afternoon. Harry had quickly learned that skiving off would result in a series of detentions during which Kinder would insist on drinking tea with him anyway, so after a particularly nasty confrontation in which Angelina had threatened to kill him if he missed any more Quidditch practices, he had resigned himself to going when he was told.

It was during one of these sessions that Kinder informed him that the Ministry had appointed him as Harry's official guardian while Sirius underwent evaluation. Though Harry could not say he was surprised by this news, it had produced a sinking feeling in his stomach all the same.

Now, thinking of what he had to look forward to, Harry wondered for what felt like the millionth time that week whether he had made the right decision.

_"So what are we going to do?"_

_ "Well, Harry, that's up to you."_

_ Harry looked incredulously back into the mirror. "What do you mean, it's up to me? Of course I don't want to stay with Kinder!"_

_ "I know you don't. My point is that there's still a chance I could get you back legally. To be honest I don't know how good of a chance it is, but it's your choice whether to take that chance and put up with Kinder for a few months, or uproot ourselves permanently and run off to some other country but never have to worry about him again. I can't tell you what to do here. Only you can make that decision."_

_ "And if you can't get me back legally?"_

_ "We'll still have the option. It'll be more difficult, but a Marauder always finds a way. We'll still be able to go somewhere else."_

_ Harry nodded. He thought about what would happen if he left the rest of the wizarding world to face Voldemort without him. Given that almost everyone thought he was brainwashed and Sirius was a violent madman he admittedly wasn't feeling overly charitable at the moment. Besides, he wasn't exactly indispensable; they had Dumbledore to lead them through it, after all. But Dumbledore…_

_ He could only imagine Dumbledore's reaction upon learning that he, Harry, had fled the country right when Voldemort was beginning his second rise to power. Would he be angry? Shocked? Or would his blue eyes simply fill with that horrible disappointment as he realised that Harry had not lived up to his expectations, that he had acted out of cowardice…_

_ And then there was Ron and Hermione. He thought they would understand, but if he ran away he didn't know when he would see them again. Depending on Voldemort's actions, there was a chance that that would be never – and he would not leave his friends to fend for themselves._

_ "I'll stay."_

_ "All right." Was it just him, or did Sirius sound disappointed? "I suppose I'd better get started. Just keep your head down and try not to antagonise Kinder."_

_ "_You're_ telling _me_ not to antagonise Kinder?"_

_ Sirius only gave him an obviously forced smile before the mirror went blank._

Not that he hadn't tried to avoid spending Christmas with the only professor who'd ever managed to rival Snape in earning Harry's hatred. As soon as he'd learned of Harry's predicament, Ron had asked if he'd like to stay at the Burrow for Christmas, and Harry had jumped at the chance. However…

_When McGonagall came around to collect the names of people who would be remaining at Hogwarts, she skipped over Harry – which was odd. So, even though he had every intention of leaving on the Hogwarts Express with everyone else, he approached his Head of House as she was leaving the Common Room._

_ "Professor, I—"_

_ "Your legal guardian has already informed me that you will be remaining here for the holidays, Potter."_

_ "I—what?"_

_ "Professor Kinder has decided that you are to stay in his quarters over Christmas." Though her tone was businesslike, her nostrils flared slightly as she said it._

_ Harry's mouth hung open. "I—but can't you—"_

_ "No, I can't." She looked at him then, and suddenly her eyes were softer and more human. "It would be… unwise… to make trouble where Professor Kinder is concerned, and unless I were to adopt you myself, I have no power to overrule him in this matter." Her voice, too, had softened, and was barely above a whisper. "So keep your temper and be on your best behaviour, for Black's sake if not for your own."_

_ "But, Professor—"_

_ "That will be all, Potter." Her voice was crisp and clipped again, and she strode through the portrait hole before Harry could say another word._

He'd spoken to Sirius one more time prior to the holidays – that very night, in fact. This time, they hadn't planned. They'd simply sought comfort in one another's company.

_"You're not having second thoughts, are you?"_

_ In spite of himself, Harry shook his head. He had made his decision, and he was going to see it through to the end – whatever end it turned out to be._

_ Sirius sighed. "It's not a good situation, but we can get through it. Just remember that. We just need to get through this and we'll be fine again by next summer. One way or another, we'll be fine."_

_ Harry nodded miserably. All he'd ever wanted was a normal life. Was this small part of that really too much to ask?_

_ Sirius, seeing the look on his face, reached out and placed his fingertips on the surface of the mirror. After a second's hesitation, Harry mirrored his gesture. A few seconds of silence passed before Harry broke the contact._

_ "So how do you think I should handle Kinder?" he asked. "I'm _not_ going to make nice with him."_

_ "It's possible to be civil without being nice," Sirius said, smirking. "Just look at how Remus deals with Snape." Then, in a more serious tone, "Keep your temper, but don't talk about anything you don't want to talk about, and don't let him force you into anything you feel uncomfortable with. And no matter what, stay on Hogwarts grounds. This is important for your safety – whatever Kinder tells you, whatever happens, _don't leave the grounds_."_

_ "What am I supposed to do if he tries to make me?" Harry asked angrily. "Hex him?"_

_ "If you have to." Sirius looked as grave as Harry had ever seen him. "Please, this is important. Nowhere Kinder can take you will have the blood wards your _relatives'_—" he spat the word as though it were something nasty he wanted to get out of his mouth, "—house did, nor will it have the protections we've put on Alder Cottage and Grimmauld Place. There's only one other place where the Order can effectively keep you safe, and that's Hogwarts."_

_ Harry nodded. "I understand."_

So here he was, trying to savour his last night of freedom but without much success. His one small comfort was that he would not be alone: when his bid to stay at the Burrow had failed, Ron had gone straight to McGonagall and added his name to the list of people who would be staying at Hogwarts. Much to Harry's surprise and delight, Hermione had followed suit.

The comfort, however, was a small one, and Harry dreaded staying with Kinder more than he had ever dreaded returning to Privet Drive. At least the Dursleys ignored him most of the time.

His brooding was interrupted when Hermione spoke from his left. "Neville?" her voice said. "Neville, what's wrong?"

Harry looked up. He had been too preoccupied with his own problems to pay any attention to Neville, who was on Hermione's other side, but now that he took the time to look Harry could see that Neville looked even worse than he felt. He seemed to have spent the last five minutes doing nothing but stare at his plate, which he had not even bothered to fill. He muttered something under his breath.

"What was that, Neville?" Hermione asked kindly.

"They're taking me away from my gran."

There were a couple of seconds of shocked silence. Then:

"But she's your blood relative!" Ron blurted. "They can't—"

"They can." Neville looked, if possible, even more miserable. "They said she might be too old to really look after me, and Professor Kinder told them he thinks she might be neglectful. They're going to send me somewhere else while the Ministry evaluates her case. She says they'll only take me away over her dead body, but… but…" Neville buried his face in his hands.

"Oh, Neville." Hermione put an arm around his shoulder and hugged him as well as she could manage given their relative positions. Neville buried his head in her robes, trying simultaneously not to cry and to hide the fact that his efforts were failing.

"I w-w-wanted to s-stay at H-Hogwarts, b-but the M-Ministry is m-m-making me go, and I d-d-don't know w-what they'll d-do to my gran…" Hermione continued to hold him, rubbing his back until his sobs quieted.

"It'll be all right, Neville," she said, her arm still around his shoulders. "This is just an evaluation and I'm sure they won't take you away for good, I'm sure you'll be able to get back to your grandmother before the school year is out…"

Harry listened with one ear as Hermione prattled on about how everything would work out just fine, ignoring the apologetic look she was giving him and growing more depressed with every word she spoke. Yes, everything would work out fine for Neville; of that he was sure. But what about him? Kinder's delusions aside, the Ministry had a political motive for keeping him away from Sirius. While those in the Order maintained that Fudge would have to see the light eventually, Harry personally thought that the only way that was likely to happen was if Voldemort made a personal appearance in the Ministry Atrium in the middle of the workday. In the meantime, if Sirius couldn't clear his name through legal means, he'd have to pull up his roots and go into hiding somewhere in a country he'd never even visited.

"Cheer up, mate," said Ron, looking at him sadly. "I'll still be here, and Fred and George and Ginny, and we'll make sure you don't have to spend too much time with him…"

"Yeah, and Kinder's got it into his head that all of my friends are in some sort of denial." Harry pushed his plate away. "Bet you anything he says I can't see you until you admit that Sirius is beating me."

The remains of dinner were whisked away and dessert appeared on the tables. Harry did not think he could eat anything more, though, so he pushed away from the table and started for Gryffindor Tower. Ron, Hermione, and Neville followed, Hermione still with her arm around Neville's shoulders. Harry could feel Kinder's eyes on the back of his head as he left the Great Hall.

* * *

The next morning, Harry watched Seamus and Dean do their last-minute packing with a growing sense of apprehension. Neville only sat on his bed, his trunk half-empty, staring around the dormitory with bloodshot eyes and seeming to look straight through anyone who passed his line of sight. Harry knew how he felt: his stomach seemed to tie itself in knots every time he thought of the upcoming break.

After a few minutes Ron came to sit beside him and joined him in watching everyone else. He didn't ask about Harry's own lack of activity, or the fact that he hadn't even taken out his trunk, and he didn't have to. Professor Kinder had told him to be packed and ready to move into his quarters by that afternoon, but Harry was determined not to make things easy for him.

All too soon the other boys had left, Neville dragging his feet, and Harry and Ron were alone in the dormitory. Ron tried to engage him in a game of Exploding Snap, but Harry was far too nervous to pay attention, and after three successive hands blew up in his face he gave up. Ron had just started putting the cards away when they heard footsteps on the stairs outside.

They looked at each other, but before either of them could react further, the door opened and Professor Kinder stepped in. He looked straight at Harry.

"Harry, what is this?" he asked, his voice going stern. "I thought I told you to pack."

Momentarily, Harry forgot Sirius's advice as anger rushed through his body. "I don't want to stay in your quarters," he snapped.

"That is no longer for you to decide. It is the Ministry's wish – and mine, for that matter – that you spend time in the care of a qualified official as part of your evaluation." Kinder waved his wand; Harry's trunk slid out from under his bed, and a good portion of his possessions flew into it of their own accord.

"Why should he have to go with you if he doesn't want to?" Ron demanded angrily, standing up. "He's got a mind of his own, doesn't he?"

"That is not a decision you are qualified to make," Kinder said sharply, fixing Ron with a glare. "After everything I have tried to teach you, I am surprised that you still do not understand why this is necessary. As his friend, you should want what is best for Harry – regardless of whether he agrees."

Ron opened his mouth to answer back, but Harry stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Ron," he said softly, "don't." Ron continued to glare, but shut his mouth. Harry turned back to Kinder.

"If you don't see any signs that Sirius is mistreating me, will the Ministry let me live with him again?"

"I believe you already know the answer to that." He waved his wand again and the trunk disappeared; Harry assumed that Kinder had sent it on to his quarters. He beckoned imperiously to Harry.

_It would be… unwise… to make trouble where Professor Kinder is concerned. So keep your temper and be on your best behaviour, for Black's sake if not for your own._

Sighing, Harry followed him out of Gryffindor Tower.

In spite of himself, Harry felt his curiosity rising as Kinder led him down a staircase he had only ever seen on the Marauders' Map. With the exception of Hagrid's cabin, which he didn't think counted, he had never been inside a teacher's quarters before, and doubted that any of his classmates had either.

When they came to a door in the hall, Kinder halted. Placing his hand on a brick to the right of the door, he instructed Harry to do the same. He then tapped his wand on Harry's hand, at which point the brick glowed momentarily.

"I have spelled the wards to recognise you and grand you entrance," Kinder explained. "From now on, touching that brick will grant you entrance whether I am here or not." Harry nodded to show that he understood, but kept silent. _It's possible to be civil without being nice._

Professor Kinder's quarters were just as obsessively neat as his office. The walls were spotless and bare of decoration, and the austere wooden furniture was polished so brightly it gleamed; even the fire looked as though it would not produce a single spot of soot.

When Kinder showed him to his room, the first thing Harry noticed was that it had the same impersonal feel as Kinder's office. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd entered a hotel room. There were no windows.

"I will leave you to get settled in now," Kinder said. "You may go to the Great Hall for lunch and dinner, but I expect you to come straight back here when you are finished; you are not to dawdle or return to Gryffindor Tower. If you need anything that is still in your dormitory, inform me and I will get it myself." With that, he left Harry to his own very miserable thoughts.

* * *

**A/N:** One person did ask me what exactly I meant by "two." As you can see, answering would have constituted a spoiler.

Why Neville too? Well, Augusta Longbottom _has_ been rather critical of some of the Ministry's policies, plus Neville's natural shyness and awkwardness might very well set off alarm bells in the rather paranoid Kinder's head.

I have planned a short spinoff that covers Neville's holiday, though I don't know when I'll get around to posting it or how often I'll be able to update.

I hope I did a decent job of explaining the reasoning behind Harry's decision not to run away with Sirius except as a last resort. He's a Gryffindor for a reason, and I just don't think it's in his character to abandon his friends when a war is breaking out. I also got the impression reading the books that Harry is better at controlling his temper for others' sake than for his own (Angelina begging him while on the brink of tears had more effect on him than carving "I must not tell lies" repeatedly into the back of his hand), so I hope that explains why he's managed to keep his major outbursts in check. Personally I think it's because he's used to being treated badly regardless of whether or not he's done anything wrong, so a lot of punishments just don't have the intended effect.

Title of next chapter: "Things to Come"


	26. YEAR5 Things to Come

To all those reviewers who've been saying "No offense, but I really hate Kinder": don't worry, you're kind of supposed to.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Harry Potter, I would have done more with the House relationships than Slytherin=evil, Gryffindor=good. That moment where all the Slytherins walked out really was the low point of DH, IMHO.

**Edit:** Journal date had been changed from 2005 to 1995. Thank you, Kradeiz, for pointing out that mistake.

* * *

The next morning Harry climbed stiffly out of a bed that was much harder than he was used to. He had not slept a wink.

His hopes of seeing his friends in the Great Hall were dashed when he came out of the bedroom to find Professor Kinder waiting for him at the table where a simple breakfast was laid out, courtesy of the House-Elves, no doubt. He thought of Sirius standing in the kitchen cooking eggs and sausage, and another pang went through him.

"Good morning, Harry."

"Good morning, Professor Kinder," Harry answered automatically.

The eyebrow went up. "Really, Harry, while I insist upon you showing me the proper respect while we are in class there is no need for that sort of formality between us here. You may call me Iago if you like."

"Er…"

"Very well, then." Kinder sighed and poured himself some coffee. "That can wait until you are more comfortable with it." Harry said nothing, only sat down slowly at the table and concentrated on filling his plate.

He'd managed to avoid Kinder most of the day before under the guise of settling in, and Kinder had let him. He'd even got a word in with Ron and Hermione during dinner, where Hermione had informed him that she was holding onto the mirror and that if he had any message he'd like to give Sirius, she'd be happy to pass it on.

It looked as if he'd get no such opportunity this morning, however. Now that he was at least theoretically settled into Kinder's quarters for the duration of the break, the Defense professor seemed determined to turn their already awkward afternoon tea sessions into a full-out heart-to-heart.

"I decided we would eat here rather than in the Great Hall," he was saying, "because I thought you and I could use the opportunity to get to know each other a little better."

Harry grunted noncommittally, which he only got away with because his mouth was full of sausage.

"So, Harry, how have classes been going for you?"

Harry was not fully able to hide his surprise. Kinder seemed to be taking a different tack than with his usual afternoon tea sessions, during which he always pressed Harry for details on his experience in the graveyard or on his home life with Sirius. "Classes are going fine," he answered cautiously, taking a swig of his pumpkin juice.

"Really? From what I understand you seem to be struggling in Potions in particular."

Harry shrugged, taking another bite of his sausage.

"Harry," Kinder said sternly, "when I ask you a question I expect you to answer me properly. Now, would you care to give me a response that consists primarily of words?"

Harry let out a sigh. "You saw why I'm failing Potions. Why do you want me to spell it out for you?"

"Because you have thus far shown quite the reluctance to complain when you are being treated unfairly—a reluctance which, I must say, is quite unusual for someone of your age."

"Professor," Harry said, pushing his plate away, "do you honestly think that I've never complained about Snape?"

Kinder raised an eyebrow. "To an adult?"

"Well…"

He pressed his advantage. "Are you honestly telling me that you have never once, in your entire time at Hogwarts, in spite of treatment that is both unfair and against the rules in any decent school, filed a complaint with either the headmaster or your Head of House?"

"It's not that simple!" Harry snapped, finally losing the cool he'd been trying so hard to maintain all morning.

"Why?" Kinder showed no outward reaction, but was watching Harry with his full attention; his breakfast, too, lay forgotten on the table.

"Because!" Harry jumped up from the table; he could hear his chair clattering behind him but at this point he was too angry to care. "What makes you think that complaining gets _anything_ done around here? I complained plenty about being taken away from Sirius—"

"Which was done for a good reason, as you well know." Harry dearly wanted to slap him to break that seemingly unshakeable calm.

"No, I _don't_ know! Nobody _ever_ cared about my welfare before that Skeeter _cow_ started making up _rubbish_ because she wanted to sell a story, and now all of a sudden everyone wants to take my family away from me!" He was breathing hard. He turned to sit down again, but his chair was on the floor.

"You claim," Kinder said carefully, "that Rita Skeeter has been writing 'rubbish.'" Harry turned away from his professor, fixing his eyes instead on the fallen chair. "Which part of her writing, precisely, do you think is a falsehood?"

"All of it," Harry spat. He still wouldn't look at Kinder.

"She brought to light a gross miscarriage of justice at the hands of Barty Crouch." There was a scraping of wood against stone as Kinder pushed his own chair away from the table. "Do you deny the truth of that?"

"Everything she wrote about _Sirius_." To his shame, Harry felt tears welling up in his eyes. He blinked them back furiously.

"She described with great accuracy the effects that prolonged exposure to dementors has had on every single prisoner in the history of Azkaban—with the apparent exception of Sirius Black." Kinder was now standing behind him, very close but not touching. "She also brought to the public's attention suspicious circumstances concerning you, as well as those surrounding the death of Crouch. Are you telling me that every one of these articles is also based in falsehood?"

"She never had proof for any of it." Now he did turn around to glare at Kinder. "She was just trying to stir up trouble."

Kinder sighed. Suddenly he looked much older than he had before, and somehow… deflated.

"Harry," he said, his voice gone low and hoarse, "if everyone waited for proof then nobody would ever find help." He turned away without explaining what he had meant.

* * *

Harry spent the rest of the morning in the room Kinder had given him—he refused on general principle to think of it as his. Though Kinder did not try to lock him in or forbid him from leaving, he felt as thoroughly trapped as he ever had in his cupboard at 4 Privet Drive.

After a while, however, his stomach began to rumble. He tried to ignore it at first, but soon found he was getting so hungry he would no longer be able to resist the urge to leave the room. He was beginning to sorely regret his half-eaten breakfast.

Finally, he could resist no longer. Cracking open the door, he cautiously looked around. There was no sign of Kinder. Feeling relieved, Harry slipped out of the room and tiptoed across the living room, being careful to make as little noise as possible in case the professor was still there. Though he made it out of Kinder's quarters without incident, it wasn't until he had reached the Great Hall and sat down at the Gryffindor table that Harry dared breathe a sigh of relief.

"How's it going?" Hermione asked quietly as she slid in next to him.

"How do you think?" Food had appeared on the table, and Harry gratefully helped himself.

"You didn't come to breakfast this morning," Ron pointed out rather obviously as he took a seat on Harry's other side.

"Kinder wanted to have breakfast in his quarters." Harry glanced around, making sure there was no sign of the Defense Professor. "He reckons I should complain to McGonagall or Dumbledore about Snape," he confessed, lowering his voice.

"About Snape?" Ron asked in disbelief. "You mean you've been complaining to _him_ about Snape?"

"No. Look, it's just from that one inspection, all right? Anyway, he just asked why I'd never complained to an adult before…"

"Well, that would probably work in a Muggle school," Hermione agreed, also in a near whisper. "But Hogwarts really doesn't seem to work the same way as most Muggle schools…"

"Yeah, I suppose not." Harry paused for a moment to take a bite of food. "Listen, can you tell Sirius that I've been doing okay, and ask how the evaluation is going?"

Hermione smiled. "Of course, Harry. I'll be sure to pass it on."

All too soon, their reunion was at an end. No sooner had he finished eating than Professor Kinder showed up in the Great Hall and instructed Harry to accompany him back to his quarters. Harry had no choice but to comply.

"Have you thought about what I said regarding Professor Snape?" Kinder asked him as soon as they were alone again.

"A little bit," Harry confessed.

"And…?"

"It wouldn't do any good. Things just don't work that way at Hogwarts." Harry sat down on the sofa, crossing his arms.

"And why do you think that is the case?" Kinder eased himself into a wooden chair across from Harry. "Have you tried to take such action before?"

"Not with Snape."

"Then in what context? Other," he continued as Harry opened his mouth furiously, "than your insistence upon staying with Black?"

"I—look, I just know it won't work, okay? Snape's unfair to _everyone_ and he's still here, so I don't see how one more complaint from me is going to change things," Harry shot back, hoping to turn the tables.

"Is that so?" Kinder was frowning. "Well, I suppose I'll have to take a serious look into this school's policies."

Though Harry privately thought that would hurt more than it would help, he didn't voice his thoughts, not wanting to prolong this conversation any further.

He had, however, forgotten Kinder's penchant for making things worse. "Enough of that for the moment, then. Do you recall when I asked you whether you were aware of what constitutes abuse?"

_Unfortunately._ "Yeah," he said out loud.

"And…?"

Harry sighed. "Hitting. Name-calling. Hexing. Neglect. Obliviating the person afterward so they won't be able to say—"

Kinder held up a hand. "You're repeating what I taught you, but you don't seem to be thinking about any of it. Have any of these things ever been done to _you?_"

"Not by Sirius." Harry glared at Kinder, crossing his arms tighter.

Kinder was looking at him very closely, so much so that it made Harry uncomfortable. He got the urge to shift about in his seat, but forced himself to stay still and look Kinder in the eye. "Like I told you before, Sirius has never even _yelled_ at me."

Kinder continued to eye him intensely for a moment, then, to Harry's surprise, he gave a curt nod.

"We will talk more later, of course, but for the time being I will trust your judgment."

It was all Harry could do to hide his surprise. He didn't give any answer, sure that Kinder was only telling him what he wanted to hear for no other reason than to get his trust.

* * *

Harry didn't dream on Christmas Eve. Instead, he woke up with his scar burning so intensely that it was all he could do not to let out a shout. Out of habit, he groped for the mirror—but it wasn't there; he had given it to Hermione for safekeeping.

Harry cursed under his breath. He needed to tell Sirius. Never mind that it was only a second's worth of pain, that he didn't know any details about what was going on—someone in the Order had to know that tonight, Voldemort was the happiest he'd been for the past fourteen years.

He jumped out of bed and headed for the door. He'd just have to sneak up to Gryffindor Tower—a difficult task without his Invisibility Cloak, but by no means impossible.

Harry opened the bedroom door very, very slowly, afraid that it might creak. All of the lights were out; there was no sign of Kinder. He tiptoed out of the room in his sock feet. He managed to get across the living room without incident, but no sooner had he grasped the handle of the front door than a beam of wandlight appeared behind him, causing his shadow to stand out starkly against the wood.

"Harry? What are you doing out of bed?"

Harry mentally cursed. There was no way he could let Kinder find out about the Order, nor did he want the man to know he had a direct link into Voldemort's mind.

"I was sneaking back into Gryffindor Tower. I can't sleep here." That statement was true enough, he thought.

"I assure you, that is quite normal when moving to a new location—"

"It's not the location!" Harry snapped before he could stop himself. "It's that I have to stay in the same place as _you!_" He shut his mouth, breathing heavily.

Kinder's face betrayed no emotion. "And why is it you dislike me so much?" he asked, clinically, as if they were in class and Harry had pointed out a problem with an exercise.

"You really have to ask?" Harry demanded through clenched teeth. "You take me away from the best home I've had in my whole life, you never believe a word I say, you keep acting the caring parent figure even though you couldn't give a damn about what _I_ want, and now you won't even let me see my friends!"

"Harry, I would never attempt to keep you away from your friends—"

"Nice try!" Harry snarled. "Do you think I don't know why you keep hustling me back here every time I get a chance to have a word alone with them? I don't think you'd _ever_ let me out of here if I didn't have to eat!" He was breathing hard. He tried to open the door, but the handle wouldn't budge.

"I have been keeping you down here because I know that if left to your own devices, you will attempt to communicate with Black—against the express orders of the Ministry, no less." He paused, seemingly unfazed by Harry's glare. "If, however, you would like to spend more time with your friends, I see no reason why they should not come here."

"Ron and Hermione—here?" Kinder had made the suggestion with the air of giving him a real treat, but somehow it only increased Harry's fury. "Want to supervise us, do you?" he asked coldly. "Can't have us talking about anything the Ministry disapproves of, after all."

"That will be quite enough." Though he hadn't raised his voice at all, Kinder spoke very firmly and Harry knew that somehow, he'd crossed a line. "If you would like to see your friends tomorrow, you will invite them here. I do not think that is an unreasonable condition. Now, unless there is anything else you would like to discuss with me, return to your room. Any more backtalk, and you will be spending your Christmas in detention. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, _sir_." Harry brushed past him, not bothering to hide his anger as he returned to the room Kinder had given him. The light outside continued to glow long after Harry had returned to bed.

* * *

It was the first day since he'd started at Hogwarts that Harry wasn't looking forward to Christmas. He didn't even look at the presents sitting on the floor when he rolled out of bed, but left the room sluggishly, hoping that he would at least be able to see Ron and Hermione at breakfast in the Great Hall.

He never got that far. No sooner had he entered the living room than Professor Kinder walked through the front door, leading Ron and Hermione. Ron wore a scowl on his face; Hermione was clutching the morning paper to her chest and looked terrified.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, some of his delight showing through in spite of himself. His friends, however, gave him solemn looks.

"Professor Kinder invited us down," Hermione said in a hushed voice, looking warily around the room. "Harry—"

"Won't you join us for breakfast?" Kinder interrupted. A variety of dishes had already appeared on the table. "I expect you'll want to open presents later, as well."

The three of them exchanged a hopeless look. Harry bit down on the urge to start yelling again, knowing that if he did he'd be spending Christmas in Kinder's idea of an unpleasant detention. Biting his tongue, he pulled up a chair. Taking their cues from him, Ron and Hermione seated themselves as well.

They ate in hushed silence, not at all like the usual comfortable chatter with which the three friends normally occupied meals. Hermione kept looking back and forth between Harry and Kinder as though afraid one of them might explode. Ron only sat in sullen silence, shooting the occasional glare in Kinder's direction.

Finally, though, after what seemed like hours, breakfast was finished. When Kinder finally set down his fork at the side of his plate, Harry jumped up from the table. "Think I'll go open presents now," he said. "Come on, let's go to my room."

Once they were inside Harry closed the door and locked it. He immediately turned to his friends. "My scar hurt really bad last night, and—"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted him abruptly. "Look at this." She unfolded the _Daily Prophet_ to show him the cover page.

"Mass breakout from Azkaban?" His friends nodded grimly. Harry sat down, hard, on the bed.

"That's why," he groaned. "He was happy last night…"

"What—You-Know-Who?" Ron's freckles stood out against his face, which had suddenly gone white. "You mean… you're _reading You-Know-Who's mind?_"

"His moods, more like." Harry shook his head. "I can't explain it, but my scar hurt last night, and—I just _knew_."

He took another look at the paper in his hand. The wizards and witch pictured leered insolently back at him.

_Antonin Dolohov, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett._

_Augustus Rookwood, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic secrets to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

_Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom._

"Longbottom?" Harry said, startled. "You don't mean—"

"Neville's parents." Hermione's voice was soft. "We just found out this morning."

Harry forced his eyes back to the paper, where he continued reading down the list.

_Peter Pettigrew, convicted of aiding in the murder of Lily and James Potter and of slaughtering thirteen Muggles with a single curse._

"Damn it!" Harry threw the paper forcefully onto the floor. "What explanation is Fudge giving for this?" he demanded. He couldn't stand to read the rest of the article himself.

"He just said they must have found the same hole Sirius did when he escaped," Ron said. "He must never have told the Ministry—well, you know."

"Yeah, and can you blame him? They threw him in there for twelve years without a trial, of course he's not going to tell them how he got out!"

"Anyway, Fudge doesn't want to admit that the dementors have turned against the Ministry," Hermione added quietly.

At that moment, however, they heard Kinder's footsteps coming toward the door, and any further hope for private conversation was lost.

* * *

_Entry December Twenty-Fifth, 1995_

_ He's hiding something._

_ There is no doubt that the boy is quite earnest in defense of his godfather. I can no longer deny that, whatever else might be happening, he understands what I have been trying to teach him and he still honestly believes that Black is innocent. This is a possibility I am now ready to accept, as contrary as it is to my previous conclusions._

_ Be that as it may, something is off._

_ There are things he does not want to talk about even though he should have no reason for secrecy. Of course, that is to be expected on some level from any child talking to a social worker, but this goes beyond the average teenager's determination to be misunderstood. No, as far as Harry Potter is concerned, something is very, very wrong._

_ No Hogwarts fourth year has the knowledge necessary to make a Portkey. He could not have left the Quidditch pitch that day without outside assistance—and the number of eyewitnesses leaves no doubt that he _did_ indeed leave. I very much doubt that he left of his own volition._

_ What he tells me cannot be the truth. As everyone knows and Harry ought to know better than anyone, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named perished on Halloween night fourteen years ago. It is, however, evident that Harry underwent _something_ that day, something so traumatic that he is unwilling to speak of it, that he chooses to place the blame on a phantom from his early childhood rather than face the reality._

_ What that reality is, I may never know. My early lines of inquiry in that direction have convinced me that trying to force the information out of him may do even more damage than the initial trauma. I can only continue to do as I have done, to show him an example of a caring, concerned adult, and hope that someday he will learn to trust me._

_ What I do need to find out, and soon, is who _was_ responsible for the events of last May. Someone made that Portkey—someone close enough to Harry to put it on his person without arousing suspicion. Was it Dumbledore? Black? One of the teachers? One of his friends, who was made an accomplice unknowingly? So far I have made no progress in this line of inquiry—I fear I am disliked and mistrusted among the teachers and student body alike. I must tread lightly, and be more subtle in my efforts. Pride has no place when a child's life is at stake._

_ I will have to think this over again in the morning, when my head is clearer. For the time being, however, all I can do is sleep on it and hope that I find a solution soon._

* * *

**A/N:** A _Friday_ update? What madness is this?

I know that there was a previous draft where I described one of Kinder's inspections... but then, looking back on the last few chapters I actually posted, I realized I must have cut it from the final version. Anyway, I hope it's clear that by this point that Kinder has sat in on at least one of Snape's classes, and that he witnessed some of Snape's admittedly less-than-fair treatment of his students.

Hm... Who all would like to see a round of Kinder vs. Snape? Can't promise it'll happen, but if I get enough requests, it might.

This last chapter provides us with a look into Kinder's possibly disturbed mind. I am in no way trying to _justify_ his actions, but I do believe that there is value in _explaining_ why characters act the way they do. There is a difference. In any case, this was my attempt at explaining just a little about how Kinder's mind works.

Title of next chapter: "Life and Death"


	27. Life and Death

**Disclaimer:** If I owned _Harry Potter_, I would be able to afford to pay someone to winterize the house for me. Alas, I must do it myself.

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity, Christmas break ended and Harry was finally allowed to return to Gryffindor Tower. Somehow, it wasn't the same as before. Seamus and Dean kept giving him odd looks, and the unspoken silence between Harry and Neville lay heavily over the normally carefree atmosphere. Harry was almost glad to get back to classes, as they provided a welcome distraction from the ongoing tension between him and his housemates.

Unfortunately, a return to classes also meant a return to the mountains of homework they were now being assigned in preparation for O.W.L.s. Between that and Quidditch practice, Harry felt as though he barely had time to breathe.

Nevertheless, he called Sirius on the mirror the first chance he got. Though his nightmares of the graveyard had subsided slightly since Christmas he was now haunted constantly by dreams of the locked door at the end of the mysterious corridor, and his scar was always unusually prickly afterward. He wasn't getting any useful information out of them like he did from the visions, but he still thought that someone ought to know.

Not to mention he wanted to talk to his godfather again without Professor Kinder constantly hovering over his shoulder.

When he called Sirius, however, it was to find his godfather jittery and tense, fidgeting every few seconds and conversing in single words. Though he dutifully vowed to pass Harry's dreams on to the Order his mind seemed to be somewhere else entirely, and when Harry finally got fed up and asked him he shook himself visibly and offered a sheepish smile.

"Sorry I've been distracted today," he said. "It's just that Remus is still stuck in Grimmauld Place, and the full moon is tonight…"

Oh.

"Wait, is Remus transforming there?"

"He has to. Moving to another location would be too risky now that werewolf hunting is practically legal. Ah well, I've been trying to find a suitable use for my mother's bedroom…"

"And Wolfsbane…?"

"I still haven't had any luck with it. I'd more likely poison Remus than help him at this point. And Snape _claims_ that brewing it himself is unnecessary to Order function, and would jeopardise his position as a spy." The bitterness in his tone told Harry that this was a longstanding point of contention between the two men.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just keep your head down and stay out of trouble, and I'll be happy. How was Christmas, by the way?"

Harry made a face. "Kinder was a nightmare. Now he's trying to get to me by saying he believes me, and pretending to be on my side…"

To his surprise, Sirius actually looked thoughtful. "Well, whatever you've been doing, you'd best keep at it," he said distractedly. "He might see reason yet. Listen, I've got to go; I've still got to make a few preparations for tonight. Is there anything else urgent you needed to tell me?"

Harry shook his head. He would have liked to talk with Sirius some more, but right now Remus needed his help a lot more than Harry did.

That evening, however, he sought out Hermione, and they briefly set aside their classwork in favour of redoubling their efforts on understanding the Wolfsbane potion.

* * *

The next day, Harry walked into Potions with a sense of impending doom. He remembered all too well what Kinder had said about Snape, and wasn't at all looking forward to being caught in the crossfire of whatever it was that Kinder had planned.

Sure enough, when they entered the classroom it was to find Kinder standing at the very back of the room, holding a book to his face with one hand while he casually tapped his wand against his leg with the other.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll kill each other," Harry muttered to Ron as they entered the classroom. Ron shot him a look of sympathy as they took their seats.

"Settle down," Snape commanded, sweeping into the room like an overgrown bat. The class instantly fell silent. Snape seemed to be about to begin his usual lesson, but then his eyes drifted to the back of the room and he raised his lip in a sneer.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Kinder lowered the book he was holding, marking his place before he tucked it back into his robes. "I am only here to observe," he said coolly, though the hand holding his wand gave a slight twitch. "Please do carry on as usual."

"Hmph." Snape turned back toward the front of the room, and flicked his wand. "Today we will be brewing the Strengthening Solution. The ingredients and method are on the blackboard" – instructions appeared there – "you will find everything you need in the store cupboard" – the door sprang open – "you have an hour and a half. And do not think," he said venomously, his eyes drifting to Kinder again, "that just because there is a… _babysitter_… present, that you are permitted to put in any less effort than I would expect from you under normal circumstances. Begin."

As usual, the potion that Snape had assigned them was a fiddly, delicate work. The ingredients had to be added in exactly the right proportions at exactly the right moment, the cauldrons had to be heated to exactly the right temperature, and the potion had to be stirred the exact number of times, in exactly the right direction.

Harry, however, found that Potions had been getting progressively easier as time went on. His extensive studying of Wolfsbane had given him a much greater understanding of the reasoning behind techniques that had been completely obscure to him before, and Harry found himself mentally going over a checklist of what would happen at various levels of heat, the potential consequences of over-stirring the cauldron, and the ways in which various ingredients would interact with each other to make a contribution to the whole. Though he had chopped his ingredients at roughly the same pace as his friends, by the time Ron was prodding his smoking cauldron with his wand and wondering out loud what he could possibly have done wrong, Harry's potion had achieved nearly exactly the same tint and consistency as Hermione's.

Now, if only Snape would leave him alone…

"Miss Granger."

Harry, who had just been prodding the flame under his cauldron down to the simmering point, looked up. Snape was hovering over their table, and he looked extremely dangerous.

"Did I or did I not tell you, on the very first day of class, that you were not to give assistance to others?"

"Professor," Hermione said, looking up, "I wasn't—"

"Silence." Though Snape did not raise his voice, Hermione fell silent instantly. "Ten points from Gryffindor for talking back," he continued, "and both of you will receive a zero on this assignment for cheating."

Harry opened his mouth to give an angry retort – he was beyond caring how much trouble he would be in as a result – but someone else interrupted him before he could speak.

"What seems to be the problem here?" Though Harry had not seen him move, Professor Kinder was now standing beside their table as well.

Snape raised his lip upon seeing who had spoken. "The _problem_," he sneered, "is of no concern to an… _observer_. I am merely disciplining my students." He turned back to them. "Now, as for you two—"

"For what, may I ask, are you disciplining them?"

Snape whirled on Kinder. "I do not tolerate cheating in my classroom," he said in his lowest, most dangerous voice. More than half of the class had now stopped work to watch the conflict that was unfolding before them. "And I will thank you not to interfere in the way I run my class… _Inquisitor_."

"I see you singling out students for bullying, not running a class." Kinder crossed his arms. "What, exactly, has led you to believe that Harry was cheating?"

"Do not pretend," Snape said, his voice sinking to a whisper, "that after less than one year of teaching you know Potter better than I do. A mediocre student, so arrogant that he never saw fit to put in an ounce of genuine work, could not possibly produce a potion of this degree of complexity without the occurrence of a miracle – or, much more likely, outside assistance."

Kinder raised an eyebrow. "Do you have any evidence that Harry was cheating? Did you, for instance, notice them whispering to each other during class?"

"Do not be ridiculous," Snape snapped. "I never allow my students to converse during class." Everyone in the class was now looking at them, and Harry wished he knew how to sink into the floor.

"What is your evidence, then?"

"I need no evidence!" Snape roared. "Potter was cheating!"

"Will the headmaster also say as much?"

"The headmaster has never gone so far as to interfere in how I run my classroom."

"Then perhaps it is time he started. I will be forced to question his fitness to run a school if he knowingly allows such behaviour as I have seen today to continue." The two of them glared at each other, and Harry would not have been surprised to see lightning spark between their eyes.

"Take your argument to the headmaster, then." It was a challenge. "I assure you, Dumbledore has been here longer than any Defense teacher – regardless of their hidden agendas."

"I was hoping it would not come to this point." Kinder sighed. "Harry, Miss Granger. What is your next class?"

"Arithmancy, sir," Hermione answered, at the same time that Harry said, "Divination."

"Very well, then." Kinder produced a quill and a roll of parchment from somewhere in his robes and proceeded to write out two notes, which he then tapped with his wand, causing them to roll up and seal themselves. Another wave of his wand, and they had disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"I have sent messages excusing your absence to both of your teachers," he explained as Snape looked on with an extremely sour expression. "As soon as class ends you will submit your potions for grading, and then all of us will have a discussion with the headmaster concerning your fitness to teach."

"I simply cannot wait," Snape answered drily.

The remainder of the class stretched out into one long moment of tension. Harry did as he was told and poured a measure of his potion into a small vial for grading, also saving a second vial just in case Snape decided to break it "accidentally." Hermione, he noticed, did the same.

Ten minutes after the end of class found them standing in Dumbledore's office. The headmaster looked all of them over with his piercing blue eyes while Kinder explained the situation. Harry tried to catch Dumbledore's eye while Kinder spoke, but he would not make eye contact.

"I see," Dumbledore said when he was through. "What do you say to these claims of bullying, Severus?"

"Potter was cheating! For over four years I have seen his work, and he could not have produced the potion he did without Granger's assistance."

"Harry?" asked Dumbledore, still not looking at him. "Are Professor Snape's claims of cheating true?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "Hermione and I have been studying… Potions… together in our free time. I understand Potions a lot better than I used to now, that's all."

"It is our O.W.L. year, Professor," Hermione said quietly.

"I see." Though Harry was sure Dumbledore knew they were not telling him the whole truth, he made no further inquiries. He steepled his fingers. "Severus, do you have any concrete evidence of cheating on the part of Mr. Potter or Miss Granger?"

Snape's lack of reply was answer enough.

"Very well, then. As far as I can see there was no wrongdoing on the part of either of these students, and I will ask you to grade their assignments as you normally would." He turned back to Harry and Hermione, though his eyes were fixed on Hermione rather than Harry. "Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, please return to your classes. Severas, Iago, I would like to speak with you two further."

As Harry and Hermione left the office the door closed behind them, and they heard no more of the conversation.

* * *

Though the day had not turned out as badly as it might have, it had still been an exceedingly stressful experience, and the only thing Harry felt he could look forward to at all that day was talking with Sirius after dinner. He bolted down his food, not missing the understanding looks he got from Ron and Hermione, before he rushed back to Gryffindor Tower and pulled out the mirror.

"Sirius. Sirius," he called, but there was no answer. He frowned, but the mirror remained reflective for only a few more seconds before it blurred and Sirius's face came into view.

"…Sirius?" Harry asked with a shock. His godfather looked as if he hadn't slept all night; there were dark circles under his eyes, and Harry could pick out a few broad parallel scratches that started at the back of his neck and ran all the way down to his collarbone before disappearing into his robes. As soon as he noticed Harry looking, however, he shifted his robes slightly so that the scratches were covered.

There were a few seconds of silence. Then:

"You locked yourself in there _with_ him!" Harry exploded.

"Of course I did!" Sirius replied, as though stunned that Harry would expect him to do otherwise. "I couldn't just leave him in there to tear himself up, could I?"

"So you chose to let him tear _you_ up instead?"

"Harry, Remus has had to deal with this every twenty-eight days for most of his life. If he could do that, I can do this once a month until I manage to figure out Wolfsbane."

"It's not safe even if he can't infect you!" Harry countered. "He could really hurt you one of these days—"

"Harry," Sirius said exasperatedly, "do you really think that Remus and I haven't discussed this already?"

"Remus honestly thought this was a good idea?"

"No, he didn't. But it's been two years since he's had any form of relief during the full moon, and I'm not going to let him go through this alone as long as I can do something about it."

"Sirius—"

"End of discussion, Harry."

It was the closest his godfather had ever come to snapping at him. Harry sat stunned for a few seconds, but then put his mirror away without saying goodbye, just as he heard footsteps on the stairs outside.

"Oi, are you done already?" Ron asked as he poked his head into the dormitory. "I was hoping to ask—what's wrong, mate?"

Harry shook his head as he tucked the mirror into its hiding place.

"I—" Harry looked away from Ron as his best friend continued to stare. "It's nothing."

"Bullocks." Ron crossed his arms, leaning against the wall as he gave Harry his best glare. "Out with it."

Harry sighed. "There are times when I wonder whether Azkaban drove Sirius mad after all," he confessed.

* * *

After that day Harry found himself calling Sirius much less often, and never within a week of the full moon. Ron and Hermione, at least, seemed to be on his side – Harry had never in his life seen them in such good agreement.

"It's bloody dangerous, is what it is!" Ron ranted as they walked back to the castle after Quidditch practice. "What if he gets himself killed, eh? A werewolf is a werewolf, whether you're an Animagus or not!"

"I just don't understand why he won't see reason," Hermione said in a bout of frustration during one of their Wolfsbane study sessions. "It's reckless – this kind of behavior will only favour Kinder's case if he ever finds out."

"Then we'd best make sure he never finds out," Harry said firmly, copying out a line of text. "Do you know what it means when it says the hematite must be of splendant lustre?"

Hagrid's return provided some relief from the ongoing tension, but not nearly as much as Harry would have hoped. Though his tale of meeting the giants was certainly exciting, it was offset by his multiple injuries and his curious reticence as to their source. They ended up leaving his cabin with yet another mystery hanging over their heads.

Other than that, however, things settled into a more-or-less normal routine. Harry and Ron practised Quidditch. Ron and Hermione practised Defense. Harry and Hermione studied the Wolfsbane potion. They all studied for O.W.L.s. Harry's scar continued to prickle with increasing frequency, and he often caught snatches of impatience or pleasure from Voldemort. If Harry concentrated hard enough on all of this, he could almost forget about the ongoing tension left over from his fight with Sirius.

Then, in mid-February, Harry received a note from Hagrid telling them of Aragog's death.

"He's _mental!_" Ron said furiously after reading it. "That thing told its mates to eat Harry and me! Told them to help themselves! And now Hagrid expects us to go down there and cry over its horrible hairy body!"

"He didn't say what Aragog died of," Harry said to himself, reading the note again.

"Does it matter?" Ron threw his hands into the air. "Trust me, being dead will have improved him a lot."

"Still…" Harry looked again at the note, at the tearstains over the parchment that marred Hagrid's already messy handwriting. "D'you reckon we should go anyway? You know… for Hagrid?"

Hermione was chewing her lip. "I don't know, Harry… it's such a pointless thing to get detention for…"

"I know, but…" Harry looked out the window, where he could just see Hagrid's cabin. It looked cheerful under its covering of snow, but somehow forlorn in the dying light.

"I'll go if nothing else gets in the way," he decided, folding the note and pocketing it. "I won't ask you two to come if you don't want to."

* * *

That evening found Harry and Hermione slogging their way through the snow toward Hagrid's cabin under the Invisibility Cloak (Ron had flat out refused to come). "I really do hope this is worth it," Hermione fretted as she swept her wand out in front of them, clearing a path. "We'll be in _so_ much trouble if we're caught…" She knocked on Hagrid's door.

The door swung open. Hagrid shooed them in quickly, but as soon as the door shut behind them Harry swept off the cloak.

Hagrid looked awful. Harry was sure he'd been crying, but it was impossible to tell just how red his eyes were under the various cuts and bruises that covered the rest of his face. Looking closely, he realised that Hagrid had even more injuries than the night he'd returned—many of the bruises were fresh.

"Yeh came," he croaked when Harry and Hermione revealed themselves.

"Yeah—Ron couldn't, though," said Harry.

"He's really sorry," added Hermione, keeping an admirably straight face.

"Don'—don' matter… He'd've bin touched the two've yeh are here, though…"

"What did he die of, Hagrid?" Harry asked.

"Don' know, ter tell yeh the truth," Hagrid replied, dragging a forearm across his eyes. "But he was actin' real anxious startin' a few weeks back… Wouldn' tell me what abou', neither. Me, I think he was sick and didn' wan' me ter worry…" He let out a great sniffling sob. Harry and Hermione looked at each other helplessly.

Harry looked out the rear window, where he saw the rather horrible sight of the enormous dead spider lying on its back outside, its legs curled and tangled. It was already more than half-covered with snow.

"Are we going to bury him here, Hagrid, in your garden?"

"Jus' beyond the pumpkin patch, I thought. I've already dug the – yeh know – grave. Jus' thought we'd say a few nice things over him – happy memories, yeh know…"

Harry thought again of being chased through the Forbidden Forest by a large group of very hungry spiders the size of horses, and bit his tongue. Hard.

* * *

"That was depressing," Harry said once they had got back to the Common Room.

"That was _horrible_." Hermione shuddered. "If meeting a whole bunch of those… _things_… was what you and Ron were up to, I'm almost glad I got Petrified second year."

"Well, you being Petrified was the reason we went in there in the first place… but yeah." Harry allowed himself a shudder of his own. "You're right; I'm glad you weren't with us."

"But, Harry…" Hermione said, shrugging off her cloak. "Did anything about Aragog's death strike you as… odd?"

"Well, he was pretty old when we met him, and that was three years ago…" Harry had the feeling, however, that that was not what Hermione had been talking about.

"Yes, but… he died rather suddenly, didn't he? And Hagrid said he'd been acting anxious." Hermione started to pace. "Hagrid said he thought he was sick, but he can't have been, or Hagrid would have noticed."

"Hagrid hasn't exactly been in good shape lately, himself," Harry reminded her. "I see what you're getting at, though. What would a spider the size of an elephant have to be nervous about? Now that the basilisk is gone, that is."

"I don't know. Things just keep looking more and more ominous. First that goblin child goes missing, then Hagrid's pet up and dies out of nowhere? That sticks out a little too much to be coincidental."

"D'you reckon we should tell someone?"

Hermione seemed to consider it for a moment, but then shook her head. "No. Hagrid's in the Order, and the way he goes on everyone's bound to hear about it by the end of the week."

Harry agreed, but Hermione's words had left a tickle in the back of his mind that wouldn't go away. There was no question about it: something was very, very wrong.

* * *

**A/N:** I got enough requests for Kinder vs. Snape that I spent most of today just putting in that scene. Just for you. (As a bonus, it also got a formerly short chapter up to a decent length.) Oddly enough, the votes on who people wanted to win were about 50/50, so I was aware that roughly half of you would come away hating me no matter the outcome. So naturally, I went with a compromise that would make all of you hate me, and didn't actually show the final outcome. I might go into further repercussions in further chapters, though.

I'm also aware that Sirius's behavior in this chapter is bound to get me more than a few flames. In my defense: I've noticed an ongoing trend, over all fandoms, for rewriting things "the way they should have been" without considering why they happened the way they _did_. Though of course there's always room for interpretation when it comes to characters and their choices, there are more than a few interpretations that are flat-out wrong. I refuse to sacrifice characterization for anything, and Sirius is and always has been a very flawed character. That's one of the reasons I love to write him so much. I will be giving him some development later, but there's a difference between that and a straight-up personality transplant.

Title of next chapter: "Smoke Rising"


	28. YEAR5 Smoke Rising

For anyone who didn't look at my profile, I was rather ill over the weekend, so I hope that the lateness of this chapter will be forgiven. Next month will resume the regular schedule.

**Disclaimer:** Hagrid, centaurs, Acromantulas... they're all Rowling's. I'm just playing around with them.

* * *

During their next Care of Magical Creatures class, Hagrid seemed distracted, constantly wandering off in the middle of a sentence with his eyes unfocused. Harry, though he thought he knew why, stayed back to talk to him nonetheless.

"Hagrid," he started uncertainly, "I know you miss Aragog…"

"Eh, it weren' just that." Hagrid dragged a sleeve messily across his eyes, one of which was still black. "The other spiders won' let me anywhere near their webs now Aragog's gone. Turns out it was on'y on his orders they didn' eat me! Can yeh believe that, Harry?"

Harry tried very hard not to say "yes;" the fact that Aragog himself had once given the other spiders leave to eat him and Ron was very high on his list of things that Hagrid did not need to know. Instead, he raised up a hand and patted Hagrid's elbow.

"Makes yeh wonder," Hagrid went on, and now he seemed to be talking more to himself than to Harry. "Makes yeh think abou' all the other people yeh know, and wonder how many o' em aren' who yeh thought they were…"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, thinking of his confrontation with Sirius. "Makes you wonder…"

"Listen, Harry," Hagrid continued, still as if he hadn't heard him at all. "I don' think tha' I'll be here much longer, ter tell yeh the truth…"

"Don't talk like that, Hagrid! You're a great teacher," Harry lied.

"Th-thanks." Hagrid sniffled, and tears began to leak from his beetle-black eyes. "Tha' means a lot, comin' from you." Once again, he swiped an arm across his face. "Still, I think tha' Kinder's got it in fer me…"

"You just need to have a little more confidence," Harry insisted. "Don't let Kinder intimidate you." Unfortunately, Hagrid tended to get flustered during inspections—which had not been good for his teaching career.

"Too late for that." Hagrid shook his head. "He's already decided that I'm no good. Ah well, I've had a good run, at leas'. Got ter see what it was like to be a respectable wizard fer a change… Now don' argue," he said as Harry opened his mouth to do just that. "It's jus'… I need yeh an' Ron an' Hermione ter help me wi' summat, an' I need ter show yeh what it is 'fore I'm out o' here fer good… Can the three o' yeh meet me here Saturday mornin'?"

"Of course, Hagrid," Harry said—admittedly against his better judgment.

"Th-thanks a lot, Harry." Hagrid sniffled again. "Knew I could count on yeh."

* * *

"You actually _agreed_ to it?" Ron demanded later that night, when Harry informed them of Hagrid's request in the privacy of the fifth year boys' dormitory. "Have you gone completely _mad?_"

"Look, I know it isn't the best idea. But he's about to get the sack and he's been really depressed ever since Aragog died…"

"Yes, and what if he's tried to cheer himself up by hatching another baby dragon, or… or breeding another batch of Blast-Ended Skrewts?" Hermione paced back and forth, nervously fingering her wand. "Let's face it, Harry, Hagrid doesn't have the best of judgment even when he's not depressed, and now…"

"I _know_, Hermione. I may not have your genius, but I'm not an idiot." He sank onto his bed, running a hand over his face. "It's just—I promised Hagrid, and I can't do that to him right now."

"Harry, I know how you're feeling—I do!" she insisted as Harry glared at her. "But don't you think you should talk to Sirius—"

"No."

Ron and Hermione both looked taken aback at the force of Harry's tone. "Blimey," Ron said. "Are you still—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine." Hermione threw her hands into the air. "Write a letter to Remus, then. Just try not to get in over your head again."

"Oh, right." Harry irritably rubbed his scar, which had been unusually prickly for the past week. It didn't help his mood to know that, once again, something had gone right for Voldemort. "Because I've never been in over my head before."

"We _know_, Harry. And we're not saying it's your fault—"

"Just don't forget that other people are here to help you, yeah?" Ron said, sitting down across from him.

"Yeah," Harry muttered, lowering his hand from his head. "Yeah, I'll try to remember. And—thanks."

* * *

That night found Harry penning a hasty letter to Remus.

He had to be very careful in what he wrote, knowing full well that the letter would likely be intercepted. Not only would the Ministry suspect him of trying to contact Sirius; he didn't want them finding out that he was making contact with a wanted werewolf either.

He also needed to avoid getting Hagrid in trouble. The Ministry hearing that a "dangerous" half-giant was up to some vaguely dangerous and potentially illegal activity would definitely not be good for Hagrid's already damaged career.

By half an hour to curfew, Harry had something that he thought was satisfactory. He read it over one last time, just to be sure.

_Dear Moony,_

_ It's been a long time since we've seen each other, so I thought I'd write. I wish there were a more convenient way for us to talk._

_ Classes are going fine…_

(Harry skimmed over this part, as it was only meaningless filler meant to hide the real purpose of the letter from prying eyes.)

_ …I wish I could say everything else is going well, but one of my friends just had his pet die, and he's had it longer than Norbert. (You've heard of Norbert, right?) I think that he's getting something else and that he wants us to help with it, but I don't know whether that would be a good idea. What do you think?_

—_Harry_

Deciding that it was sufficient, Harry addressed it with only the name of _Moony_, underlining it twice with very bold strokes.

Going up to the Owlery, he found Hedwig just getting ready to depart for her nightly hunt. She hooted softly upon seeing him.

"Hey, girl," Harry said quietly, stroking her feathers. "I need you to take this to Remus tonight. Think you can do that?"

She hooted again, a bit more loudly this time, ruffling her feathers as if insulted that Harry would doubt her. Grinning, he tied the parchment to her leg, being sure to fish an owl treat out of his pocket after he did so.

"Make sure that he's the one who gets it, okay?" Hedwig clicked her beak in affirmation before taking off.

* * *

Harry had sent the letter at night in the hopes of receiving a reply before the weekend, and his efforts paid off: at breakfast on Friday, Hedwig dropped an envelope into his bacon. She looked rather smug.

"It's from Remus!" Harry pulled the envelope toward him and hastily slit it open.

"Well?" Ron said eagerly, leaning in to look over his shoulder. "What's it say?"

_Dear Harry,_

_ It's good to hear from you again. As you probably know I haven't been able to get out much lately, so a friendly bit of post is always welcome._

_ It's a shame about your friend. As a matter of fact I happened to see him myself earlier this week, but he hasn't told me any more than he's told you. I do, however, agree with your assessment, and only ask that you avoid making any promises that you can't keep._

Harry blushed guiltily. One thing he had not included was the fact that he had already promised Hagrid his help.

_As for classes, I know that O.W.L. year can be stressful, but believe me when I say that that's normal. This may sound contrary to logic, but you'll do better in the long run if you take a break once in a while—tell that studious friend of yours that this means her as well. _(Hermione blanched.)_ You have a Hogsmeade weekend coming up soon, right? Take the day off, spend it in the Three Broomsticks or some such place. Trust me, you will be better off for it. (But don't take that as leave to slack off on your studies altogether, much as I know your other friend will encourage you.) _(Now it was Ron's turn to sputter.)

_ Once again, thank you for writing, and I hope to hear from you again sometime in the near future._

_Yours,_

—_Moony_

_PS – Padfoot is not aware that you wrote. Though I also disagree with the way he is handling the situation, I wish the two of you would sort things out—and yes, I have said as much to him as well. I will not pressure you further, but I think it would be better if you work this out before you see each other again._

Harry hastily tucked the parchment into his robes before either of his friends could comment on the last line. Thankfully, they were a bit more perceptive than he gave them credit for.

"It sounds as if he's telling us to be at the Three Broomsticks next Hogsmeade weekend," Hermione muttered under her breath. "You don't think he's… you know… planning to meet us there?"

"Dunno." Harry looked over the letter again. "But this is Moony. I don't think he'd do anything reckless."

"Unlike someone else I could mention." Hermione let out a sigh. "You're still going to meet Hagrid tomorrow, aren't you?"

Harry nodded. "Yes," he said firmly.

"Then I'm going with you," Ron said from his other side.

"I still don't like it," Hermione said, "but I am too."

* * *

"I don't believe him," Hermione said after they got out of the forest the next day, pacing back and forth. "I really don't believe him."

"Calm down," said Harry.

"Calm down!" she said feverishly. "A giant! A giant in the forest! And we're supposed to give him English lessons! Always assuming, of course, we can get past the herd of murderous centaurs on the way in and out! I—don't—_believe_—him!"

"It isn't just the centaurs," Ron said, shuddering. "What about… you know… the _other_ thing?"

They all fell silent, and Harry knew that Ron and Hermione, just as he was, were thinking on what had happened on their way back out…

_"I thought that we told you, Hagrid, that you are no longer welcome here?"_

_ "How are yeh, Magorian?"_

_ The trees behind the centaur rustled and four or five more emerged behind him. Harry recognized the black-bodied and bearded Bane, but Bane gave no sign that he had ever seen Harry before._

_ "So," he said, with a nasty inflection in his voice, before turning immediately to Magorian. "We agreed, I think, what we would do if this human showed his face in the forest again?"_

_ "'This human' now, am I?" said Hagrid testily. "Jes' because o' what the spiders—"_

_ "You were the one who brought them into this forest!" Bane said, stamping his front hooves in a very threatening manner. "Many of our herd were wounded when they rampaged. Two of our foals are still missing. Yet still you have the nerve to show your face in our forest."_

_ The three of them turned to each other in shock. "Rampage?" Hermione mouthed. Ron was rapidly turning green._

_ "Now, you listen ter me," said Hagrid angrily. "I'll have less of the 'our' forest, if it's all the same ter you. It's not up ter you who comes an' goes in here—"_

_ "No more is it up to you, Hagrid," said Magorian smoothly. "I shall let you pass today because you are accompanied by your young—"_

_ "They're not his!" interrupted Bane. "Students, Magorian, from up at the school!" He made as if to rush at Hagrid, but was stopped by Magorian's arm across his chest._

_ "Nevertheless, the slaughter of foals is a terrible crime. The loss of your son should have taught you that." Bane, though he still looked murderous, backed down, and Magorian turned back to Hagrid. "Today, Hagrid, you pass. Henceforth, stay away from this place. We know what you are keeping in the forest, and our tolerance is waning."_

"I'm not going back in there," Ron continued, his voice rising progressively in pitch with each word. "Murderous giant spiders on the rampage, once was enough, I'm not going to do it again…"

"We haven't got to do anything yet," Harry tried to reassure them. "He's not asking us to do anything unless he gets chucked out and that might not even happen—"

"Oh come off it, Harry!" said Hermione angrily. "Of course he's going to be chucked out and to be perfectly honest, after what we've just seen, who can blame Kinder?"

There was a pause in which Harry glared at her, and her eyes filled slowly with tears.

"You don't mean that," said Harry quietly.

"No… well… all right… I didn't," she said, wiping her eyes angrily. "But why does he have to make life so difficult for himself—for _us?_"

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I just don't know."

* * *

Try as he might, Harry could not think what to do, and he didn't dare put detailed information in a letter. The next weekend, he decided that there was nothing for it but to do what Remus had seemed to be suggesting, and go down to the Three Broomsticks with Ron and Hermione.

A fine, misty drizzle accompanied them all through the walk down to Hogsmeade, and it was a relief to get inside of the warm, well-lit pub. No sooner had Harry removed his cloak than Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, drawing his attention to a very familiar red-headed figure who was waving at them from a table across the room.

"_Charlie?_" Ron said incredulously as they moved to join him. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"And why shouldn't I visit my own brother?" Charlie asked with a grin. Something in the way he said it, however, seemed off, especially when his eyes flicked significantly to Harry afterward.

"Wait," Harry said, excitement and apprehension building in equal parts in his mind. "You wrote us about this last weekend, didn't you?"

"Right again, Harry." Charlie—Remus, Harry now realised—grinned before he waved down Madam Rosmerta and ordered a round of butterbeers.

Ron, who was sitting next to him, couldn't seem to decide which emotion he wanted to express on his face. "Something the matter, Ron?" Remus asked pleasantly, turning to him.

Ron, who had been opening and closing his mouth repeatedly like a fish out of water, snapped it shut again just as Madam Rosmerta arrived with four butterbeers. "You have _no_ idea how weird this is," he said fervently as she walked away again.

"Oh, I have more idea than you think," Remus said lightly, pulling his butterbeer towards himself and taking a sip. He grimaced slightly, and Harry noticed him slipping a small flask inside of his robes. "At any rate," he continued, "I can't stay here long. So why don't you tell me what's been going on."

"Are you sure… are you sure it's safe?" Hermione's eyes flicked all around the room. "There are so many people here…"

"Which means that we're less likely to be overheard," Remus said calmly. "Don't shout it, mind, but unless someone is standing behind us and listening in all of the other conversations in here ought to drown us out."

They looked at each other doubtfully, but there was nothing else for it. In lowered voices they launched into the tale of Grawp and the centaurs, Ron pointedly including the apparent rampage of giant spiders. When they had finished, Remus looked more than mildly disturbed.

"Just so we're clear," he began. "Hagrid wants you—"

"—to visit his murderous half-brother and teach him English, assuming we can get through the murderous centaurs and murderous Acromantulas on the way in and out." Hermione's voice had gone nearly high enough to shatter glass by the time she finished, and she looked around guiltily as if to make sure that no one had overheard.

"Oh dear," Remus said, sighing in a very un-Charlie like way. "Well, I suppose I'll just have to talk to Hagrid myself."

"Don't… don't go too hard on him," Harry pleaded. "He's been having a difficult time right now, and I just… I don't want him to think that we betrayed him too. You know how he is."

"Yes, I do know. And I promise I'll try to work out an alternative. But Hagrid should not be asking you to do this." Remus stood, pushing his chair away from the table.

"You have to go?" Harry guessed.

"Afraid so." His mannerisms were a lot closer to Charlie's now, and Harry guessed that he was getting back into character. "It was good seeing you again, Ron. And you too, Harry, Hermione." They nodded in return.

With that, he departed, leaving them alone with their confused and very guilty thoughts.

* * *

**A/N:** One thing that I see a lot of in fiction, especially in movies, that drives me absolutely _up the wall_, is characters discussing sensitive information in a public place, often a restaurant, without taking into account that someone, possibly the waiter, might overhear them. Half the time it turns out that the waiter _did_ overhear them, and they end up in very deep shit afterwards because of it. So I tried to give Rowling's characters a little more credit and have them at least consider the possibility.

This chapter was a hard one to write, mostly because the upcoming chapters were the ones I that really _wanted_ to write. This is primarily a dialogue chapter, and it's mostly filler, but there is some important stuff in there. One of the earlier concepts was quite a bit more action-packed, but given that we're coming up on the finale, I decided that understated drama would work better for this point in the story. That said, definitely not my best work.

I was surprised, and quite pleased, by the number of people who agreed with my decisions on the last chapter. Definitely encouraging.

Title of next chapter: "Questions and Answers"


	29. YEAR5 Questions and Answers

**Please note that the rating of this story has now changed to "M". This rating is for _violence_, and it's only going to get worse from here on out. To anyone who started reading prior to the rating change, I really do apologize, but this was a possibility from the beginning and dark stuff tends to be my specialty.**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Insert witty disclaimer here.

* * *

Remus had not realised, when he did it, just how hard it would be to go into hiding.

The isolation alone he could have dealt with; he had, after all, been shunned for most of his adult life, starting when other people found out just what he was. The sorry state of his hiding place was also nothing new for him; in the past his poverty had often forced him to take shelter wherever he could find it, and he'd ended up in more than a few places that made Grimmauld Place look very clean and tidy indeed.

This was the first time, however, that he had not been free to leave. Not only did his human side yearn for freedom, but a wolf wanted to roam.

He could make himself forget when the other Order members were around, or when Sirius dropped by for a word or a game of chess. But it was times like this, when he was left alone in the house with no-one but Sirius's bitch of a mother for company, that the situation truly hit him: he was an animal, trapped in this cage of a house in the middle of the city, and no-one was ever going to let him out. He was surprised that his pacing alone hadn't worn a hole right through the floorboards.

From downstairs, there was the sound of a door opening, and Remus's ears wanted to prick as they did during the full moon. Going by the subsequent lack of screeching from Mrs. Black, his guest was someone who actually knew what he was doing, and therefore most likely Dumbledore or Sirius. Remus nearly tripped over his own feet rushing to the front door.

It was Sirius. Though he smiled when Remus came into view and waved a hand in greeting, his whole posture was slumped, and even from his current vantage point Remus could make out dark circles under his eyes.

"Coming back here again?" he joked, though his voice was barely above a whisper. "You really need to get a life, Padfoot."

Sirius smiled slightly, but then his smile turned into a sigh. "Life or no life, I could do with a friendly face."

Remus let out a breath in sympathy as they made their way to the drawing room. "That bad, is it?"

"I tell you, Moony, if I have to talk to one more Ministry official trying to find out why I _really_ wanted to take Harry in, I just might scream." He collapsed bonelessly into the nearest available chair, arms and legs sprawled out in more directions than Remus would previously have thought physically possible. "It's almost as if they think I'm some sort of paedophile. Keep insinuating that Harry already has a home and that there's no honest reason I could want to take him away from his blood relatives…" He leaned back into the chair, closing his eyes.

"That is rather awful." Remus hesitated, but he had to ask. "Have you considered… telling them about the Dursleys?"

Sirius shook his head, his eyes still closed. "Believe me, Moony, I would. But Harry asked me not to. He's already angry with me and if I break my promise now, he's never going to trust me again."

Remus sighed. "It was a thought. Do you think we're nearing the end of this mess, at least?"

"I have no idea," he groaned. "It's the damn Ministry, everyone's so tight-lipped and half of them think I've been mistreating Harry to boot. And even if by some miracle the Ministry says yes, Dumbledore's going to flip his lid come summer."

"You don't intend to send Harry back to the Dursleys."

"Of course not."

Remus smiled. "Good," he said. "Tea?"

"That's your solution to everything," Sirius snorted. "Tea. And yes, I bloody well would like a cup."

Remus got up, but he hadn't taken two steps toward the kitchen when he was nearly knocked off of his feet by a house-elf Apparating directly in front of him.

"Mister and Mister, can you be telling me where to find Professor Dumbledore?" the elf squeaked. "Dobby is needing to speak to him right away!"

Ah_._ Dumbledore had said something about revealing the location of 12 Grimmauld Place to a trustworthy house-elf. Remus had forgot; that had been close to the full moon, and he had had other things on his mind. "Dumbledore isn't at Hogwarts?" he asked, frowning.

The elf shook his head, making his long ears flap from side to side. "No, sir," he squeaked. "Dobby is looking in Professor Dumbledore's office, sir, and Dobby has searched and searched the Hogwarts grounds, and Professor Dumbledore is not at Hogwarts and Dobby is needing to speak to him right now!" Remus had never seen a house-elf look so agitated when not in danger of an imminent beating.

"Calm down, Dobby. I'll contact him." With a wave of his wand, Remus's Patronus was off to wherever Dumbledore was, bearing the Order's code message for urgent return to 12 Grimmauld Place. "Why do you need to see Dumbledore?" he asked, hoping that he wasn't pulling the headmaster out of something urgent because the Hogwarts kitchens had run out of kippers.

The elf looked all around him once more before turning back to them, now looking positively terrified. "Dobby—Dobby has found Winky!"

* * *

Harry and Ron were making their way to the Great Hall after Quidditch practice when Professor McGonagall caught Harry and pulled him aside.

"The headmaster requests your presence in the Hospital Wing at seven o'clock this evening, Potter."

"Th-the Hospital Wing?" Harry stammered. Immediately visions of someone he cared about being hurt flooded into his head. "What for?"

"I cannot say here, but for Merlin's sake _be discrete_." She walked away before Harry could get another word in, leaving him and Ron to exchange very uneasy looks.

"What d'you reckon _that_ was about?" Ron asked quietly as they resumed walking, albeit at a much slower pace.

"Dunno. But… _Hospital Wing?_ Of all the places he could ask me to meet him…" He shook his head, hoping to clear it out a little. "I mean, if this were an ordinary meeting he'd ask me to go to his office, wouldn't he? He wouldn't send me up to the Hospital Wing unless someone was hurt."

"Yeah, it definitely sounds dodgy. So, why d'you reckon he didn't just tell you what's going on?"

"No idea." Harry sighed. "But Dumbledore never tells me anything anymore, does he?"

Ron looked at him with concern, but could not seem to find an appropriate response.

* * *

Harry's stomach growled loudly as he made his way to the Hospital Wing. Due to his anxiety over the reason Dumbledore could have had for wanting to meet him there, he hadn't been able to eat much at dinner. Though Ron and Hermione had offered to accompany him, he had opted to make the journey alone. The message McGonagall had given him had not indicated that Dumbledore was inviting his friends as well, and Harry could always tell them later what was going on.

Checking the Marauder's Map, he was thankful to find that Kinder was still in his office, but also noticed that Peeves was bouncing around the corridor directly ahead of him. Harry ducked into a side passage to avoid the poltergeist, taking an alternative route that brought him to the Hospital Wing within minutes.

Opening the door, he took a quick look around the room, but all of the beds were empty. As a matter of fact, the only occupants seemed to be Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore, who beckoned him forward the moment he entered.

As he got closer, he could hear that the two of them were debating something in furious whispers. Their words became clearer as Harry approached.

"…don't think it's a good idea for him to be here, Albus. After everything he was put through last year…" Madam Pomfrey's eyes flicked toward Harry as she spoke.

"I asked him here because he needs to understand." Dumbledore turned toward Harry. "Ah, Harry. I trust you are wondering why I sent for you today."

"Yes, sir."

Dumbledore turned and began to walk down the row of beds, gesturing for them to follow. "As you know, at the end of the previous school year Voldemort managed to capture you by forcing the house-elf Winky to plant a Portkey on your person in the form of a sock, inadvertently setting her free." Harry nodded. "As you do not know, on that same day I sent someone out to look for her in the hopes that she would have knowledge that would aid us in the war against Voldemort and knowing that, even if she did not, she herself would be in need of aid." Harry's heart started to beat faster; he had an idea, now, of why Dumbledore had called him to the Hospital Wing.

"And this person… this person found Winky, then?" Harry's mouth was suddenly very dry.

"Indeed he did. A full week ago, as a matter of fact." Harry suddenly realised that Dumbledore was leading him to Madam Pomfrey's office. "However, it is only as of today that she is able to answer questions." Dumbledore's hand was on the doorknob, but at that moment he stopped and let out a sigh.

"I need you to understand, Harry, that Winky did none of this of her own volition. I asked you here today because I think that you are owed the truth, but it is also important for you to remember that she is as much a victim in this as you are." Harry did understand, but he still resented Dumbledore acting as though he should just write off Winky's part in his ordeal. Nevertheless, he nodded stiffly, forcing his shaking hands into his pockets. Dumbledore nodded, once, and opened the door to Madam Pomfrey's office.

Winky was lying on an elf-size bed next to Madam Pomfrey's desk, and she looked awful. Though she was mostly covered up by the bedsheet, the parts of her that Harry could see were covered with half-healed cuts and bruises and even more badly healed scars. Her tennis ball-sized eyes only served to accentuate the sunken thinness of her face, and even the blanket lying on top of her failed to hide how emaciated she was. And this, Harry realised with a shock, was after seven days in Madam Pomfrey's care. If she looked like that now, what kind of condition must she have been in a week ago?

Harry took all of this in at a glance, for the minute he walked in Winky let out a terrified sob and buried her face in her hands. Harry, however, was no longer looking at her. Instead, his eyes were immediately drawn to the side of her bed, where a (relatively) conservatively-dressed Dobby stood, his ears drooping, looking as unhappy as Harry had ever seen him since before he had been freed from the Malfoys.

"Harry Potter, sir." For once, he did not seem at all happy to see his greatest hero.

"_Dobby?_ You're the one who found her?" Dobby nodded, but made no attempt to continue the conversation.

"Well, now that we are all here, I think we can begin." Dumbledore sounded unusually serious. "Winky, can you tell us what happened?"

Though Dumbledore was speaking in his gentlest voice, Winky burst into tears at his question. Nobody said anything, not even Madam Pomfrey, who was standing just inside the door and glaring daggers at Dumbledore.

"Master is—Master is—Winky's master is dying!" she forced out between sobs.

"Barty Crouch Senior, I presume. Can you tell me what happened?" he repeated.

But Winky shook her head violently, making her ridiculous batlike ears flap from side to side. "Winky is—Winky is not t-telling!" She gave both Dumbledore and Harry a glare, though tears were still leaking from her eyes. "Winky is k-keeping her m-master's secrets and her silence—"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Harry exploded, his anger finally getting the better of him. "Crouch Jr. murdered your master! He let Voldemort torture you! And after they were through with you, he tossed you aside like you were nothing!" Winky was now crying harder than ever, but Harry couldn't seem to stop himself. "Is that what you _want?_ Is Ron right? Do you _enjoy_ begin enslaved? Or is it just that hard to make a decision for yourself?"

"HARRY!" It was the first time he had ever heard Dumbledore yell. Cringing, he forced himself to a stop.

"Master Barty… Master Barty… _Master Barty is not Winky's master!_" Winky's hands were now shaking violently. "Master Barty murdered Winky's master! And then he set—he s-set Winky free—" Once again, she was consumed by sobs.

"Winky," Dumbledore said gently, "we need to know about Crouch Junior's involvement with Voldemort. We need to do whatever we can to prevent him from hurting more people—like he hurt your master." At that Winky did look up, though tears were still leaking from her eyes to splash onto the sheets. Her body was shaking with the force of her sobs.

Dumbledore did not interrupt, only waited in silence. Gradually, she got her crying under control.

"Master Barty is murdering his father." She said it quietly, but with more loathing than Harry had ever heard from a house-elf before. "Master Barty is m-murdering his f-father so that he can follow d-d-dark wizards, and Winky is—Winky is not doing anything about it, Winky is not doing her job, Winky is a very bad house-elf…"

Dumbledore continued talking to Winky, gently cajoling her for more information, but there was no getting anything out of her that was even remotely useful. Finally, Madam Pomfrey intervened.

"Really, Albus, this is getting ridiculous!" Looking at his watch, Harry realised with a shock that a full hour had passed. "She's been through enough without you interrogating her, now she needs her rest. Go on, out!"

Dumbledore sighed but did not argue, beckoning Harry to follow him out.

* * *

"How do you know her, Dobby?"

The elf's ears drooped at the question. He had been avoiding Harry ever since their encounter in the Hospital Wing, but Harry knew that he would have to return to the kitchens sometime. After several days of tickling the pear and accepting snacks from the other house-elves until he felt he would explode if he ate another bite, he had finally managed to catch Dobby alone. Dobby did not look at all happy about this situation.

"Our masters was going to breed us, Harry Potter sir."

Harry choked, spraying his tea all over the floor. Immediately one of the other house-elves hurried over with a rag.

He coughed for a few minutes, and by the time he could speak again the other elf had disappeared. "They were going to _what?_"

"House-elves is one per family, Harry Potter sir." As Dobby spoke his ears drooped further, and he kept his eyes on the floor rather than on Harry's face. "When a house-elf is needing to be replaced, the master arranges a breeding with the master of another house-elf." He spoke as if revealing something dirty and shameful, something that he had not wanted Harry to know.

"But—but Lucius Malfoy and Mr. Crouch?" He wanted to bite his tongue as soon as he said it, but the question was out; he could not take it back.

"That was before the war, Harry Potter, sir. The house-elves in all of the other families Dobby's master knew was all getting too closely related, sir. People is not wanting their house-elves being born with deformities, sir. So Dobby's master talked to Winky's master, sir, and offered to pay Winky's master a lot of Galleons if he is loaning us Winky to make Dobby a replacement, sir. But then the war is breaking out, sir, and Winky's master is no longer wanting anything to do with Dobby's master, sir—"

"Dobby, _stop!_"

"Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby will stop talking about—"

"No, I—Dobby, I meant—would you stop calling me 'sir?'" Dobby looked up at him. "I—"

But Harry could not even begin to explain why. Now, he was beginning to have an inkling of Hermione's passion for S.P.E.W. It had never really hit him before, but now, learning in detail the sorts of lives that most house-elves led, he found Dobby's exaggerated respect to be utterly repulsive.

"Harry Potter?" Dobby's eyes were wide.

Harry tried to smile. "I'm not 'sir,' Dobby. All of my friends call me Harry. You don't have a master, remember?"

Dobby smiled back at him, and somehow, in that moment, things between them were okay again.

* * *

Harry went to bed that night with the feeling of a heavy burden that had been placed on his shoulders. That evening, he resolved to apologise to Hermione for going along with Ron's teasing her about S.P.E.W.

As he climbed into bed, he also had the thought that he should talk to Winky again, even though he had no idea whatsoever what he could say. Harry ran through the possibilities in his mind as he drifted off to sleep.

_"…I'm telling you, they like it." Ron's voice echoed beside him as they walked down the corridor to the Hospital Wing. "You don't need to apologise to Winky for locking her in the cupboard for a year. I'm sure she had a right good time."_

_ "Ron, that's not right!" Hermione spoke from his other side. "Have you really been feeding her Wolfsbane?"_

_ "Well, yes, but…"_

_ "I knew all along that you were cheating, Potter." Snape came into view as they rounded the corner, and Harry backtracked a step. "Now I have all the evidence I need to get you expelled."_

_ "What makes you think that Harry was cheating?" Harry whipped around; they were now in the Potions classroom, and Kinder was standing behind him. "I gave him the formula for Wolfsbane; no fifth year student could have made it on his own."_

_ "So, Potter wasn't cheating, was he?" Snape's voice was soft and low, his most dangerous tone. "I told you, _Iago_, I have the evidence right here." He stepped to the side._

_ There, lying on the table behind him, was a young child, a boy; he was stripped naked, and couldn't have been older than three or four. His breathing was ragged, his eyes wide with terror._

_ As Harry watched Barty Crouch Jr. and Bellatrix Lestrange came into view, walking side by side. He watched impassively as they came to stand on the other side of the table._

_ "Take what you need." The words came out of his mouth in a soft, high-pitched tone that was almost a hiss._

_ "Yes, Master." Junior knelt down by the table. He was holding a bowl. Bellatrix placed a hand on the boy's chest to hold him down; with her free hand, she pulled a knife from the inside of her robes. The boy's eyes widened in terror…_

_ The blade descended._

_ A high-pitched scream was suddenly cut short._

* * *

**A/N:** I'm posting this chapter a bit earlier than usual both because I'm ahead of schedule, and as an apology for last month. While severe illness does fall under "circumstances outside of my control," I really should have been more on-schedule with the revision.

I hope that this chapter answers a few questions that several people have had. I also attempted to answer a few questions that I had, namely about house-elves. It was more-or-less explicitly stated in GoF that no Wizarding family has more than one house-elf ("Where is there enough work for two house-elves?"), but it was also pretty firmly established that servitude was a generational thing for both elf and Wizarding families. I just followed this through to its logical conclusion (well, one possible conclusion at least).

That said, I have tried to find out how Dobby and Winky know each other within the context of Rowling's universe, but have come up empty. I really hope that it doesn't turn out they're actually related or something.

I've found that I officially love writing dream sequences. I used to keep a regular dream journal, so I have a pretty good sense of how to get across the changing landscape and non-logic that's typical of dreams.

I decided not to show the follow-up of Harry's vision this time, because really it would just be Harry going to Dumbledore and reporting what he saw, followed by Dumbledore reporting his findings to the Order, and honestly I've already done this scene and don't want to do it again. You can figure out what happens next well enough without my help.

Next chapter begins the Year 5 finale.


	30. YEAR5 The Storm Breaks

**Update Schedule:** Updates will be _every weekend_ through the Year 5 finale (3 chapters total). You guys have stuck with me this long; I think you've earned it.

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**Disclaimer:** If I owned _Harry Potter_, a lot of children would have ended up severely traumatized. So it's probably better that I don't.

* * *

"Sirius, you have to stop doing this."

"Can you stop transforming at every full moon?" Sirius slung Remus's arm around his shoulders, wrapped his free arm around Remus's waist, and helped the other man hobble to the door.

"This isn't doing either one of us any good." Sirius heard Remus swallow, followed by a grimace: he had tasted the blood. "How many times did I bite you last night?"

"No more than I can handle." Sirius ignored the throbbing pain from the scratches on his stomach and the deep puncture wounds on his shoulder, ordering his body to just shut up and take the pain as he had so many times before. Nothing that Remus could do to him could even begin to compare to what Remus would have to endure every morning after for the rest of his life. It was just pain. Sirius could take it, _would_ take however much of it as he had to, if it meant that Remus had to suffer that much less.

He owed his friend that much.

"One of these days I'm really going to hurt you." Remus cringed with a sharp intake of breath as they reached the stairs, and Sirius shifted his weight apologetically. He didn't answer. "The wolf gets restless if it can't run around outside, and you don't have James to help you out anymore. What will happen to Harry if I kill you?"

"Remus, you're not going to kill me." They began to make their way slowly, painfully, down the stairs. "Werewolves don't kill, remember?"

"They've been known to." Remus's voice was bitter. "I know for a fact that Fenrir Grayback's offed a kid or two…" his breath hitched, "…doesn't care. What's a child's life worth, anyway, just as long as he converts as many as possible, so what if he gets carried away once in a while?"

Sirius didn't have an answer to this, at least not one that he had not already given. His dog form was big and powerful enough to handle a werewolf in close quarters even without help from Prongs, and Remus couldn't remember transformations, he never saw himself during the full moon. Sirius did. Whatever Remus said about his other half, they were pack, and the wolf knew it. Not even a werewolf would truly harm a packmate.

"Here." They had reached the kitchen. Grimmauld Place was empty at this hour; for the safety of everyone involved, Sirius had asked the other Order members to vacate the house on the night of the full moon. There would not be anyone else around until 6:30 at the earliest – the safety margin upon which Remus had insisted.

Sirius, however, did not want to wait that long for healing spells and potions for either Remus or himself, nor did he want to wait that long for breakfast after staying up all night. He helped Remus ease himself into a chair; Remus sighed and slumped against the table, apparently too tired and sore to argue further.

Sirius, if he was honest with himself, wasn't feeling much better, and would have liked to do the same. There was a dull pounding in his head, and his eyes were so dry they felt like a bucket of sand. He couldn't sleep just yet, however. He had things to do first.

"Where is the bloody dittany?" he grumbled, pulling out drawers at random. To prevent accidents he never kept his wand in the room with them during the full moon, but now he was cursing himself for leaving it in his bedroom rather than somewhere in the kitchen. Now he would have to drag himself all the way back upstairs if he wanted to do a Summoning Charm, and Sirius really didn't want to do that.

"Third cabinet from the left, bottom shelf," Remus answered without raising his head from the table.

"Thanks, Moony." Werewolf bites were resistant to most forms of magical healing even if one happened to be a werewolf – or an Animagus.

He slid the bottle across the table to Remus. As the other man opened the bottle and began applying dittany to his various injuries, Sirius turned to the stove. He had lit the fire and was just whisking the eggs into the pan when he heard a small scuffling sound behind him, accompanied by an ugly bullfrog's voice that he absolutely did _not_ want to hear right now.

"Werewolves and blood traitors in my Mistress's room, oh my poor Mistress, if she knew, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh the shame of it…"

"Kreacher," Sirius growled, "I am _not_ in the mood for this." Remus, behind him, groaned into the table; he had heard this conversation more times than either of them cared to count.

The elf paid him no mind, but continued to shuffle around the edge of the kitchen. "—comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh my poor Mistress, what would she say if she saw the house now…"

"Kreacher! If you're going to be in the way then make yourself useful. Come here."

Apparently Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order; he shuffled forward, trembling slightly, on Sirius's command. As the elf approached Sirius saw that he was holding something clutched to his chest.

"Kreacher, what is that?" He didn't know why he even bothered to ask anymore; he already knew what the answer was going to be.

"Kreacher is cleaning," the elf said evasively.

"A likely story. Now just what were you trying to save this time?" Kreacher shot him a look of pure malice. "Now hand it over."

* * *

_It was time. After all of his preparations, all of his work, at long last it was time…_

_ As he approached, the doors of the manor swung open as if of their own accord. He smiled. The owners knew who their true master was. All around him there were robed figures, hooded and masked… Upon seeing him they bowed low, parting to let him through… Harry's stomach contracted with fear… with excitement…_

_ A voice issued from his mouth, a high, cold voice empty of any human kindness. "Krait… your time has come…" The first kill… Fed on the blood of a child from each of the Magical Brethren over the course of a year, his snake had grown strong… but this was the final step, the most important… Only when Krait had killed independently would the transformation be complete…_

_ A sinuous scaly form twined down his wrist, and from his sleeve emerged the mottled-brown head of a small snake. It flicked its tongue out, tasting the air…_

_ "My lord."_

_ He halted, looking down at the hooded figure that knelt before him. "He is awake?"_

_ "Nearly." Junior's voice was laced with contempt. "We had to Stun him. Even without a wand he fought hard. Bellatrix is reviving him now."_

_ Junior opened the door. The room was dark; the lone window showed only a patch of sky painted blood-red by the rising sun. That patch of sunrise, however, was promptly blotted out by something dark that was rotating midair in the middle of the room. Bellatrix's voice rang out._

_ "_Ennervate_."_

_ The rotating figure sprang rather suddenly to life, thrashing about as if struggling against invisible bonds. He managed to let out a brief shout, but with a flick of a wand – held in the long-fingered hand at the end of Harry's own arm – the screaming was silenced._

_ Every other occupant of the room burst into raucous laughter._

_ "One final sacrifice." A rush of anticipation was building in Harry's stomach. "It is only fitting that the one who killed Nagini should complete the transformation of her replacement… but not just yet. No, you have caused too much trouble for me to grant you an easy death." He turned to the circle of masked figures that had formed around them. "Bellatrix."_

_ "M-master?"_

_ "I promised you reward beyond all others, did I not?" Bellatrix's breathing grew fast and harsh, and her eyes lit up with anticipation behind her mask. "But I warn you…" here his voice became positively frosty, "it will not be you who strikes the final blow. Inflict no fatal wounds… but beyond that, you may indulge your wildest fantasies…"_

_ "The Dark Lord is very kind." Her already hoarse voice had gone low and husky._

_ Harry stepped forward, so that he was very close to their prisoner. The face rotated back into view and grey eyes met his, eyes filled with equal parts terror and defiance…_

_ "Surely you have not forgotten your cousin, Black? Nor have I forgotten the trouble you have caused us, and I will see that you suffer for it… We have hours ahead of us and nobody to hear you scream…"_

_ A flick of his wand and whatever charm held Sirius silent was removed, just in time for Bellatrix to yell, "_Crucio!_"_

Hundreds of miles away, Harry Potter woke up screaming.

* * *

"Harry?"

"Are you all right, mate?"

"Harry? What's going on?"

_They've got Sirius…_

"Voldemort! It's—he—"

"_Don't say the bloody name!_"

"Shut up! Shut up, all of you!" He waved a hand violently in front of him, causing Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville to back away with haste.

"Harry," Ron said cautiously, stepping forward, "what's going on?"

"_They've got Sirius._"

Ron's face paled.

"What should we—"

Harry leapt from his bed. "Get McGonagall," he said, hastily throwing on his dressing-gown. "I'm going for Dumbledore."

They left the dormitory in haste, followed by confused looks from their roommates. Crossing the dark and silent Common Room, they gave a quick nod to each other at the portrait hole before sprinting off in different directions.

The corridors were deserted at this hour, and Hogwarts was almost unnaturally quiet. Not even the portraits stirred as Harry raced past, and he couldn't help but feel that the complete and utter silence was some sort of ill omen.

There was no time for him to ponder, however; he raced up staircase after staircase until he reached the stone gargoyle outside of Dumbledore's office, at which point he started pounding on the door hard enough to bruise his knuckles, all the while frantically shouting anything he could think of that might get him in.

"Lemon drop!"

Nothing.

"Jelly slug!"

The gargoyle remained silent and still.

"Fizzing whizbee!"

No luck.

"Ice mice! Sugar quill! Cockroach cluster!" Frustrated, he kicked the gargoyle, for which his only reward was a spike of pain that shot through his toes. "Please, just let me in!" he shouted, now nearly on the verge of tears.

"Harry, what _do_ you think you are doing?"

Harry turned, slowly, the hair standing up at the back of his neck. There, standing behind him, was Professor Kinder. He'd been so busy shouting that he hadn't even noticed the Defense Professor's approach.

"I need to see Professor Dumbledore," Harry gasped. "Now—it's urgent…"

"He's not here," Kinder said curtly. "I assure you, however, that whatever it is you wish to say to the headmaster, you need not feel uncomfortable confiding it to me."

Harry nearly swore. He didn't have time for this. He bit back a yell and clapped a hand to his forehead as another wave of pain

(pleasure)

surged through his scar. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a scream of agony…

"I can't tell you," he gritted out, forcing himself back to the present. "Now where is Dumbledore?"

"Not here," Kinder said unhelpfully. "Honestly, Harry, you are being ridiculous. The headmaster is responsible for running an entire school; do you honestly expect him always to be available at _your_ beck and call?"

"This—is—_urgent!_" Before Harry even knew what he was doing, his wand was in his hand and pointed at Kinder. "Now get out of my—"

It happened so fast that at first Harry wasn't sure it _was_ happening. He hadn't even finished speaking before a jet of light shot towards him from Kinder's wand, and Harry, his reflexes honed by months of Quidditch training and Kinder's lessons alike, leapt to the side before he had even consciously processed that the Defense professor had drawn. He felt a momentary heat as the Disarming Charm shot past him. One of the stones in the wall behind him exploded, stinging his back with shrapnel.

Immediately Harry had his wand in his hand and pointed at the Defense professor. "_Expelliarmus!_"

The ash and phoenix feather wand betrayed him. Kinder's wand gave a brief jerk toward Harry, but he tightened his grip and it remained in his hand. Then, with an incantation that he did not hear, Harry's wand was wrested from his grip. It flew, seemingly with a will of its own, into Kinder's waiting hand.

Kinder raised his eyebrow. "I am afraid that you are quite distraught at the moment. I am going to have to ask you to come with me."

"I won't—"

"You will." Kinder's wand was still pointed at Harry. "Not only have you openly attacked a teacher, but this act was preceded by exceedingly disruptive behaviour. If yours were a normal situation, you would already have been expelled on several different counts." He pocketed Harry's wand. "Given the circumstances, however, I think that some leniency is called for. Now you will simply have to trust that I really do have your best interests at heart—"

Harry made up his mind in that instant. He turned, tried to run, aware of how slight his chances were but knowing that he would forever be unable to live with himself if he didn't try. He hadn't taken three steps when something hit him between the shoulders with the force of a Bludger. He felt his body falling, and everything went black.

* * *

Harry awoke rather suddenly to a searing pain in his forehead. Clapping a hand to his scar, he looked around frantically.

He was in Kinder's quarters.

The Defense professor was standing over him, wand drawn.

With a yelp Harry leapt to his feet, ducked around Kinder, and ran for the door. Kinder made no move to stop him. Harry reached out for the handle and frantically turned it.

It was locked.

"Let me out."

"No." The look that Kinder was giving him made Harry want to throttle him.

"You've wasted enough of my time—"

"What could you possibly want to do that is so urgent?"

_I need to tell Dumbledore that Voldemort's got Sirius so the Order can help him. I need my scar to stop hurting so I can bloody think. I need you to get out of my _effing_ way…_

Harry kicked the door. He accomplished nothing aside from hurting his toes. Nevertheless he kept beating on it with all of his might, until Kinder's hands closed over his wrists and started to drag him backward.

"Let—me—_go!_"

Harry thrashed and twisted around, trying to kick out, but Kinder was much bigger than he was and what blows he did manage to land went unnoticed. He might as well have been hitting a pillow.

Kinder did not seem to tire. His grip never weakened. Instead he simply held on until Harry exhausted himself and could only sag in his hold, panting, his throat raw from shouting, nearly ready to cry from frustration.

"Now, are you ready to act your age?"

Harry didn't answer, only seethed as he focussed on breathing, breathe, don't cry, just breathe…

"I must warn you, if you throw a tantrum like that again I will be forced to put you in a Body-Bind." In spite of his threat, however, Kinder relaxed his hold, leaving Harry to slump into the desk chair with his face in his hands.

Kinder looked him over for a few seconds, as if reassuring himself that Harry would not attempt escape again, but then gave a curt nod. Slowly, he sat down on the bed, where he studied Harry with a look that he probably meant to be sympathetic.

"Harry," he said, in what he probably thought was a fatherly tone, "I know that something has been troubling you all year, and as I have already told you, I am here to help. Though I hoped that you would choose to come forward on your own, I think that it is time for you to talk whether you want to or not. Now, I want you to tell me what happened last year. I know that it will be painful to recall, but I am only thinking of your well-being, and I promise that I will not think less of you whatever you tell me…"

His voice droned on and on, and Harry once again felt tears welling in his eyes. "Help," he whispered. He didn't know who he was talking to. They were alone, deep in the castle, when everyone else was eating their final breakfast in the Great Hall, or packing up in preparation to board the Hogwarts Express. Nobody would hear him. Nobody would even miss him until his friends boarded the train and realised that he wasn't there, or until Ron realised that he hadn't made it to Dumbledore. "Help," he repeated, louder. Kinder paused in his droning ramble, and actually seemed to give Harry his full attention. "Help, get me out of here, please," Harry continued to babble, "please, I need to help Sirius—"

Suddenly, a pain-filled cry filled the room, echoing off of the stone walls. The scream was a perfect match for the ones he had been hearing in his head since waking up…

The scream had come from his pocket.

He reached for the source, but Kinder was too quick for him. All at once he had reached into the pocket of Harry's dressing-gown and pulled out the two-way mirror. Before Harry could react, before he could even reach out a hand to grab it back, Kinder dropped it onto the bed with a gasp of horror, backing away as if stung.

Harry moved forward as quickly as Kinder had backed away, leaning over the bed to look into the mirror. There was a face looking back at him, but it wasn't Sirius's face.

It was Voldemort's.

* * *

**A/N:** Now you know why I increased the update frequency; I think you guys might just kill me if I left it there for a full month.

I also dearly hope that you have a full understanding of why the rating has gone up.

I think it was pretty obvious that I had a lot of trouble with the last couple of chapters, and that was because even though they were essential to the story, I was forcing myself to slog through them when this is the part I really _wanted_ to write. Now stop giving me weird looks.

Somewhere along the line - I don't remember when - I started toying with the idea of asking what would have happened if Harry's vision at the end of 5th year had been _real_, and this was the result. Originally I was going to have it happen during O.W.L.s like in canon, but then I got the idea that the full moon would be a factor, and when I looked up the full moon dates for that year I found that it fell on July 1 - which I assume is the morning that everyone boards the train back home. Which was good, because I really didn't want to make Harry miss another round of exams.

Why 6:30? Because the full moon rises at 6 pm and sets at 6 am, and 6:30 gives them a half-hour safety margin.

Speaking of which, Kreacher was handing over a Portkey that was set to go off at a pre-set time. Was that clear to everyone? (By the way, this is the _last_ time that I will be using that particular plot device.)

Oh, and give yourself a cookie if you know where the name Krait comes from.


	31. YEAR5 A Debt Repaid

**WARNING:** This chapter is rated M for violence and may contain triggers for some people, including implied torture and mind rape in an almost literal sense of the term. Though I haven't gone into incredibly graphic detail, the implications are still definitely there. As a courtesy to people who started reading before the rating changed, I have bracketed the worst part as noticeably as possible; you ought to be able to skip over it and still get the gist of what happened, as it doesn't contain any key plot points. If you are sensitive to such material, DO NOT READ the marked section of this chapter.

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**Disclaimer:** I'm not feeling creative today, but there are several dozen other disclaimers sitting around back in the archives. If you would like to know of the many ways in which I don't own _Harry Potter_, go read one of those.

* * *

Harry felt frozen. For a moment he could only stare into the mirror while a fresh stab of pain shot through his scar and a wave of delight that was not his own washed through his body.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort whispered. In the background, the screams had ceased. The mirror turned.

Sirius was still hanging upside-down in the middle of the room. He was breathing heavily, in uneven gasps; his robes were ripped in multiple places, and Harry could see smears of blood on his face and on his clothing. As Harry watched he opened his eyes again, presumably to see why the pain had stopped. Grey eyes met green, and Sirius let out a moan of despair.

"Harry," he groaned. "Oh gods, no."

The Death Eaters on the other end of the mirror burst into laughter once again.

"Get Dumbledore," Harry said, not looking away from the mirror. To his own ears, his voice sounded surprisingly calm. In his peripheral vision he could see Kinder still sitting there, staring open-mouthed like a fish.

"_Get Dumbledore!_" he repeated, finally turning away to look Kinder full in the face. "Sirius will die if you don't!"

"I-I can't." All of the oiliness had been knocked out of the Defense professor's voice. Now he only sounded brittle, as if a hard push would break him into pieces. "The headmaster—the headmaster left Hogwarts early this morning…"

"Then get McGonagall!" Harry roared, causing Harry to flinch. "_Now!_"

Kinder finally sprang into action, sprinting across the room. Two quick taps from his wand, and the door unlocked. Then he was out of the room, leaving multiple clattering sounds in his wake as he knocked over several chairs in his mad dash for the hall.

Harry was right on his heels, but hadn't even made it out of the room before a fresh burst of pain from his scar brought him crashing to the ground. There was raucous laughter coming from the mirror.

"Do you think the old fool could help him now?" Voldemort hissed, still in that sinuous whisper that sent shivers of cold down Harry's spine. "Your Order does not even know where we are. They will not find us, and they will not stop us. The blood traitor's body will be food for my Krait." He brought the snake close to the mirror and stroked its head; Harry felt cold scales underneath his fingers.

There was a dull clink, the sound of wood against metal, and all at once the view from the other side of the mirror was steady and unmoving.

"Yes," Voldemort whispered. "Let him watch. Let him see what happens to those who oppose Lord Voldemort." Harry's scar throbbed again. "Bella."

Bellatrix didn't need telling twice. As Harry watched a dark figure, hooded and masked, came into view of the mirror. She moved toward Sirius, her wand in one hand and a knife in the other, and the horror began anew…

* * *

**This is the part you might want to skip if you're sensitive or think it might be a trigger.  
**

* * *

Sirius's scream was enough to make Harry cry out himself. He had just managed to get into a kneeling position but now fell to the floor again, nearly dropping the mirror. Voldemort's glee was reverberating inside of his skull, but at the same time he felt something entirely different surge through his body, a feeling that was not his own. There was a surge of heat between his legs. Voldemort's laughter was ringing in his ears…

"Potter! _Potter!_" He was being shaken by the shoulders.

"Harry? C'mon, mate, snap out of it!"

Harry knew both voices. He looked up, dazed, from the scene of Sirius being tortured in the mirror and in the vision he shared with Voldemort, with Voldemort's pleasure and Voldemort's arousal still coursing through him. The concerned faces of Ron and Professor McGonagall were inches from his own. Ron's face was so white his freckles stood out like pinpricks, and the hand with which McGonagall gripped his shoulder was shaking.

"Help… Sirius," Harry begged. His voice came out in a croaking whisper. He moaned and clapped a hand to his forehead as a fresh spike of pain stabbed through his scar, accompanied by another sickening wave of pleasure that washed through his body.

"Dumbledore has already mobilised the Order." McGonagall's voice was quiet. She didn't say what he knew they were both thinking: the chances of help arriving on time were hopelessly slim.

Another scream from the mirror, and McGonagall turned her head, looking at something that Harry couldn't see; he couldn't seem to focus on anything more than a few feet from him. "Kinder, get Weasley out of here!" she ordered.

"I—wait, no—!"

"Mister Weasley, do not argue! There's nothing you can do here to help anyone!"

Harry managed to raise his head enough to look Ron in the face. "Go," he said quietly. "You'll miss the train," he added stupidly, before the sensations he was getting from Voldemort's end forced another cry from his throat. Ron backed away, eyes wide, but his face began to take on a stubborn set.

_Please, Ron_, he added silently, locking eyes with his best friend. He didn't want Ron to witness any more of what he was being subjected to.

Fortunately, Ron got the message. With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and let Kinder escort him out. The door clicked shut behind them.

Suddenly, Harry felt someone tugging gently at the mirror: McGonagall was trying to pull it out of his hands. He tried to tell her not to but all that came out of his mouth was a shuddering groan; instead he tightened his grip and shook his head frantically, pulling the mirror close to his chest.

"Potter, you should not be watching—"

"I'll see it anyway!" He curled his body protectively around the mirror. The sight of McGonagall's face was rapidly giving way to that of the circle of Death Eaters, eyes laughing behind their masks. Harry wanted to do something, _anything_, but there was nothing he could do. He was here, lying helplessly on the floor of Kinder's quarters, and Sirius was being tortured by Bellatrix in some heavily warded manor house who-knew-where. Harry couldn't get to him, didn't know if the Order could get to him, and either way he knew that he would be forced to watch his godfather's death…

Bellarix did something that would give Harry nightmares for the rest of his life, and he screamed on the floor as the pressure in him finally burst, soaking the front of his robes. His body was rigid, there seemed to be an explosion of some sort in his brain, and for a few seconds thought was completely impossible.

* * *

**Okay, it's safe to look now.**

* * *

Then, however, as though from a very great distance, he heard a voice. It was a small, timid voice, so quiet that it was almost beyond hearing.

"_F-finite._"

The screaming stopped. There was a very loud crash as Sirius fell to the ground. Bellatrix stood frozen, her wand still raised in a pose that, under any other circumstances, would have been almost comical.

For a split second, everyone stayed frozen that way.

Then, everything was happening at once. Sirius tackled Bellatrix and wrested her wand from her hand. There was a brilliant flash of light, followed by a loud bang. Shouts of anger and confusion filled the room on the other end of the mirror. When the smoke cleared, Harry could see Bellatrix Lestrange lying on the floor panting, and he heard the crash of shattering glass as a large black dog leapt headlong through the window, followed by the _crack!_ of Apparition.

Voldemort's arousal was replaced by anger, and Harry's despair by fierce joy, so quickly that the warring, contradictory emotions made him feel as though he had mental whiplash. Voldemort roared in rage. He brandished his wand at the mirror, which flew into the wall and shattered into a million pieces.

But Harry still saw. Through Voldemort's eyes he saw the only Death Eater, much shorter than the others, who had not moved, but was standing as if Petrified, wand still pointed at the spot where Sirius had been. He saw the eyes widen in fear behind the mask, saw the man disappear the instant before curses started flying in his direction, saw the rat that scampered across the floor from the spot where he had stood.

Harry saw all of this in his second sight, but he felt he snake slither from Voldemort's arm. Before anyone else could react it was on the floor. The rat squeaked in terror and tried to run away, but the snake was too fast. Before he even realised it had happened, Krait had caught up to the rat that was Peter Pettigrew and swallowed him whole.

Harry was shaking. He vomited onto the floor. His head spun, he heard McGonagall's voice distantly calling out his name, and everything went black.

* * *

When he awoke he found that he had been moved to the bed. He blinked a few times, staring up at the ceiling of Kinder's quarters. Professor McGonagall was sitting beside him, and Harry found himself inexplicably grateful for her presence.

"Professor," he gasped, "what… where's…?"

Whatever answer she might have given was cut off when Dumbledore entered the room. Immediately he met Harry's eyes; his expression was very solemn. For a second they simply looked at each other, but then Harry sat up so fast the sheets ended up on the floor. His scar was still throbbing; he could feel Voldemort's rage.

"Professor," he said, "is—"

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. "Sirius is alive." At that Harry's body seemed to turn to water, and he fell back onto the bed, letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"He managed to Apparate back to your home," Dumbledore continued, "using the wand that he took from Bellatrix. Given the circumstances, and my suspicions that Voldemort's people have infiltrated St. Mungo's, we thought it best not to move him further. There are several members of the Order tending to him at home as best they can."

Harry swallowed hard. Alive he might have been, but the damage sounded bad. "Will he be all right?" It came out as a whisper.

Dumbledore looked at him for a long, hard moment, and his blue eyes seemed to soften slightly. "I will not lie to you, Harry," he said. "At the moment, it is still too early to tell how much of the physical damage will be permanent. But even if he does make a full recovery, there is some damage that he will retain for the rest of his life."

Harry's breath was now coming in quick, shallow gasps. He was remembering how much it hurt to get hit with Cruciatus even once, let alone several dozen times. He recalled the brief line he had seen in the _Prophet_ about Neville's parents. _Permanent incapacitation…_ A dark cloud started to creep in at the edges of his vision…

"Potter, breathe!" McGonagall sounded rather alarmed.

With a great effort, Harry pulled himself back to the present. "How… how badly will it affect him?" Somehow, he thought that Dumbledore knew exactly what he was asking.

In answer, Dumbledore shook his head. "Only time will tell." He gave Harry another look, and it seemed to stretch out the moment between them. "Now Harry, are you ready to go back?"

"Yes, I—" At that moment, however, Harry came to a halt, shaking his head. "No. There's just one thing I have to do first," he continued, ignoring the shocked look on McGonagall's face. "Sir, where is Professor Kinder?"

Understanding dawned in Dumbledore's eyes. "At the moment, he is sitting just outside. Due to his earlier involvement I requested that he remain present, but he thought it unwise—and, I must say, I quite agree—for him to be in the room when you woke up."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Professor. I'll be just a minute."

Every muscle protested as he pushed himself from the bed, but Harry ignored the pain, forcing his legs to take him to the door. When he turned the handle it was to see Professor Kinder sitting at the dining table, his head in his hands. He didn't seem to have heard the door open. As a matter of fact, he didn't seem aware of anything that was happening around him. Harry walked right up to him and looked down at him, wondering just what could have driven this man to do the things that he had done. Harry was not angry with him, though. There was no longer any anger left in him for Iago Kinder.

"I'll thank you to give me my wand back now."

Kinder jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, but as soon as he laid eyes on Harry he sagged in his chair. Wordlessly he reached into his robes and pulled out Harry's wand. Harry pocketed it in equal silence. Though he wasn't feeling particularly fond of this wand right now, it was all that he had, and Harry had a feeling that he should be armed.

"I'm not going to ask why you did it." Harry heard the weariness in his own voice, as well as the deadly calm. "You must have had your reasons. Still," he continued, taking a deep breath through his nose, "you should have listened."

Kinder didn't answer, or even nod to show that he had heard. He seemed to be in shock.

"I'm going to go home now," he continued, knowing that Kinder was listening in spite of his apparent inattentiveness, "and by 'home' I mean Sirius's house, not back to the relatives who've hated me ever since I was dropped on their doorstep." As he spoke Harry thought that he saw something flicker in Kinder's eyes, but it might have just been a trick of the light. "If Sirius gets through this alive and sane, you're going to stop trying to get me away from him. You're going to tell the Ministry that everything Skeeter's dreamed up about him is bullocks, and you're going to stop them trying to separate us. Is that clear?"

Slowly, minutely, Kinder nodded. Then, he slumped forward in his chair like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

"I was only doing… what I thought was right."

To that, Harry could think of no answer. Instead, he turned and strode back into the bedroom, where Dumbledore and McGonagall had been waiting without a word.

"I'm ready now."

Dumbledore nodded, holding out a thick, very old-looking book, which he then proceeded to tap with his wand. "_Portus_."

* * *

**A/N:** Aw, nobody guessed right about Krait's name! Well, if you want to know, it's from _Rikki-Tikki-Tavi_. Ever since I first heard the name "Nagini" it seemed oddly familiar to me, but it took me a few years to realize that that's because it sounds a lot like "Nagaina," the name of one of the villainous cobras in the story - I used to love the Chuck Jones animated version as a kid, which is probably why it stuck. At any rate, Krait was another snake unrelated to the other two, and Rikki's first conquest. When I was trying to come up with a name for Voldemort's new snake that story came to mind, and given the prominence of theme naming in this fandom I thought "why not?"

Now, on to the not-so-fun parts of this chapter...

This oh-so-lovely idea came to me at least partly in thanks to the story _Backward with Purpose_ by **Deadwoodpecker**. Harry makes this comment: "I reckon I'm glad Voldemort is a cold son of a bitch… what if I felt him having sex with some witch?" Cue Fridge Horror on my part. And yeah, I do think that if Voldemort would get off on anything, it would be putting someone else in pain. At any rate, this is in no way shape or form intended to be erotic. If you're getting turned on anyway, you have my sincere pity.

I'll admit that I was more than a little disappointed with the way Peter's life debt ultimately played out in canon. Seriously, an unconscious twitch of the hand? Yeah, Pettigrew is a dirty sniveling coward and he's very high up on my Least Favorite Characters list (second only to Umbridge and Lockhart), but I really thought that his key role would show a bit more of his character, maybe a glimpse of the person he used to be. So I tried to give him a slightly better death. Slightly. He really doesn't deserve a good death.

Since things have gotten so grim lately, here's some news that will make a lot of people happy: this is the last time we're going to see Kinder play a major role in the story. This is also the end of the Ministry's attempts to separate Harry and Sirius; it's getting old.


	32. YEAR5 Silent Vigil

**Disclaimer:** My inspiration for sarcastic disclaimers seems to have run dry at the moment. So, I'll just say it: I don't own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

Harry was still incredibly shaky, and when the Portkey landed him in the middle of Alder Cottage he fell to his knees with a crash.

"Harry? Oh thank Merlin, he's here!" Mr. Weasley hurried over as Harry began heaving himself off of the floor.

"I'm fine," he said, ignoring Mr. Weasley's extended hand as he hurriedly pushed himself to his feet. "Where's Sirius?"

"Down there, at… at the end of the hall. There are a few Order members tending to him now." Without another word, Harry hastened to the hallway.

Never before had he seen so many people inside of Alder Cottage. No sooner had he left Mr. Weasley than he passed Tonks, who was standing by the wall at the end of the hallway running her hands nervously over her wand. When Harry approached she opened her mouth, but then hastily looked away, allowing him to walk past without conversing. Halfway down the hallway he nearly ran into Mad-Eye Moody, who was clunking back and forth barking out orders to Harry didn't know who, his magical eye whizzing around so fast it made Harry feel dizzy just looking at it. It wasn't until he reached the end of the hallway that he even saw Remus, who was slumped in a chair under the window with his head in his hands.

"Remus?" Harry asked, halting beside him.

He looked up briefly at the sound of Harry's voice, but then buried his face in his hands once again.

"This is all my fault." His voice was so muffled that Harry could barely hear him.

"Remus, what are you talk—"

"It was a full moon last night." Remus hunched over further, and his shoulders shook violently. "He locked himself in with me. He stayed in there with me all night. If he hadn't… if I hadn't…" He shook his head from side to side, still hiding his face.

"It's not your fault." Harry's voice sounded dull to his own ears. "It was Sirius's choice." He reached out, wanting to put a hand on Remus's shoulder, but pulled back at the last second; he didn't think that he could stand the thought of human contact right now. "I tried to talk him out of it too."

Remus didn't respond, and the moment was broken when the door to Sirius's room banged open. Immediately Mrs. Weasley dashed out and ran down the hall. Harry, seeing the door had been left open, made a move toward the room, but Moody's voice stopped him before he had taken even two steps.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing, boy?"

Harry's head whipped around. Moody's back was to him, but that didn't mean anything; Harry was well aware that his magical eye could see through the back of his own head. "I—"

"Let the healers work! Give them room! If you can't help then you'll only be a distraction."

"Sorry." Harry backed away from the door.

"Hmph. Now sit." Moody pointed his wand, and a second chair appeared out of thin air, falling on the floor next to Remus's.

Harry, however, couldn't have sat down if he'd tried. Instead he began pacing back and forth across the narrow hallway, stopping every few rounds to spare a glance through the window and trying desperately to catch the eye of anyone who walked past. Mrs. Weasley dashed back down the hallway with her arms full of bottles, disappearing into the room without a word to him. The door slammed shut behind her. Moody continued to clump back and forth, occasionally exchanging a whispered word with Tonks or Mr. Weasley. Several other people came and went; Harry didn't have the presence of mind to notice who they were. From behind the door, there was a muffled cry of pain.

Slowly, the hours crawled past, the sun continuing to sink lower and lower in the sky. When the last of its rays were casting long shadows over the ground, Mr. Weasley came back to where Harry and Remus were waiting.

"I've got to go to King's Cross now," he said, "to pick up Ron and the others. If Molly asks, will one of you tell her—?"

"Yes, of course." Remus lifted his head with a heavy sigh. It was the first time he had spoken since Harry's arrival.

"I'm also going to tell Ron and Hermione what's happened, as I don't think anybody's seen fit to inform them yet." He looked at Harry, and the sympathy in his eyes was unbearable. "Harry, would you like me to bring Ron—"

"No." Harry shook his head emphatically, cutting him off before he could finish. "Just… not now. Please." The last word came out as a whisper.

Mr. Weasley gave him an understanding smile. "All right then. If I don't see you again over the summer…"

Harry knew what he wanted to say. He also knew that it could not be put into words. Therefore he only nodded, and watched numbly as Mr. Weasley swept off down the hall.

* * *

The sun was well past set when, finally, the bedroom door opened and Mrs. Weasley, instead of dashing off down the hall, beckoned Harry and Remus forward.

"He's sleeping now," she said in a hushed voice. Remus nodded and went straight in, but when Harry made to follow Mrs. Weasley threw out an arm to stop him. He heard Remus start talking from behind the door; he was answered by two others, but their voices were too hushed for Harry to make out the words.

"Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, fiddling with her wand, "maybe you shouldn't go in. A lot of those were curse wounds and the damage is bad, it'll be a shock…"

Harry stepped back a pace. There was a soft "thank you" from inside the room – Remus's voice – before two more people stepped through the door and swept off down the hallway. Harry did not look at them, however, keeping his eyes fixed on Mrs. Weasley.

Though touched by her concern, Harry was not a child anymore, and he had to make her understand that. "Mrs. Weasley," he said, not breaking eye contact, "I saw it happen." Mrs. Weasley's hand flew to her mouth; she looked horrified. "There was a two-way mirror involved," Harry continued, "and even if not for that, I have a mental connection with Voldemort." He ignored the small squeak she made at the mention of Voldemort's name. "So I'm going in. Nothing I see in that room could be worse than watching it happen."

To his surprise and great embarrassment, Mrs. Weasley burst into tears. Before Harry even knew what was happening he was wrapped in her arms, and she was smothering him with kisses. He immediately stiffened but she backed away quickly, wiping her eyes.

"Oh Harry," she sniffled, "you're growing up much too fast. It's just not fair, all of the things that have happened to you…"

"None of this is fair." Harry drew himself up to his full height; he was, he realised with a shock, now taller than Mrs. Weasley. "But that's why we've got to keep fighting, isn't it? So that this never has to happen to anyone else."

Mrs. Weasley gave him a smile, and though she was still dabbing at her eyes she thankfully did not start crying again. "Right you are, dear," she said. "I only wish that it didn't have to be you." Finally, she stood aside. "I have to go home now, but if you need me, for any reason, just send me an owl."

"Thank you." Harry forced a smile. "For everything." With another nod and another smile she made her way to the front door, and finally, at long last, Harry stepped into Sirius's room.

He was, as Mrs. Weasley had said, unconscious, and Harry tried to move quietly so as not to disturb him. Remus was sitting on the far side of the bed, holding Sirius's hand; though he was also silent his brows were creased severely, his eyes closed as if with a shared pain.

As he came close enough to get a good look at his godfather, Harry saw why. Though he'd meant it when he'd said that nothing could possibly have been worse than watching, in the time that had lapsed since then his mind seemed to have blocked out a few of the more horrid details. Now he was seeing them happen all over again. The entire right side of Sirius's face was swathed in white, where Harry knew that his eye—no, don't think about that, or about the fingers or the burns or the knee and the awful crunching sound it had made when Bellatrix drew back her wand—

Bile rose to his throat and Harry had to duck back out of the room, pressing a hand to his mouth lest he lose the contents of his stomach for a second time that day. For a few minutes he could only lean on the windowsill at the end of the hallway, taking deep breaths as he stared out at the stars.

Gradually, he managed to get both his stomach and his trembling hands back under control. _Coward_, he thought, disgusted with himself. The chair that Moody had conjured for him was still sitting under the window, and Harry hurriedly grabbed it and dragged it back into the room, glad at least for a legitimate excuse to have run out.

Remus's look when Harry returned to the room, half-carrying and half-dragging the chair, was a little too understanding, but Harry was too emotionally drained even to feel resentful of his pity. He planted the chair on the other side of the bed, across from Remus, and sank down into it.

The moment he sat it was as if an invisible force that had been holding him up was suddenly withdrawn. Harry collapsed bonelessly into the chair, and only then did he realise how exhausted he was; he didn't think he could have got up if Voldemort himself had burst through the door.

Remus's eyes flicked to him, and he immediately stood, seeming to really look at Harry for the first time that day. "Harry, I'm sorry," he said, not with the horrible guilt of a few hours prior, but with a more immediate, practical urgency. "You haven't eaten all day, have you?" Harry shook his head.

"I'll go make us a quick dinner, then. It won't be very good, mind, but—"

"I'm not hungry." Harry still didn't think he could stand the thought of food.

"Yes you are," Remus said firmly. "You just don't know it yet." He walked out of the room before Harry could protest further, leaving Harry alone in the room with Sirius.

Harry swallowed. Again he forced himself to look, really look, at Sirius. Though most of his body was thankfully hidden under the sheet and even the visible wounds were now covered, the sheer number of bandages told their own tale. Worst of all, somehow, were the lines of pain on the part of his godfather's face that Harry could see, deep etched lines of pain that hadn't been there before. Again the words _permanent incapacitation_ flitted across his mind, and he forcibly pushed them away.

Instead, inexplicably, his mind drifted back to waking up in St. Mungo's at the end of the previous year. He had been in pain then, and more than a little frightened. But Sirius had been there, and just by being there he had helped, more than Harry ever could have admitted at the time. Gingerly, ignoring the way that his skin still crawled at the thought of a touch, he reached out and took Sirius's hand into his own.

The hand was very heavily bandaged, but Harry had seen what damage had been done and where, and instead of pushing that knowledge from his mind he used it to hold the hand as carefully as possible, to avoid putting pressure on the sensitive parts, to cause, if possible, no additional pain.

"You need to be okay." Harry wasn't quite sure why he was talking, but it seemed like the right thing to do. "_I_ need you to be okay." He took a deep breath and plunged on. "We've just barely got to know each other. I've only spent two summers with you." His voice was growing shakier by the minute. "I-I've never had parents in my life, Sirius, and I can't lose you now too, I just c-can't." His eyes were burning, and a single hot droplet spilled from under his glasses, cooling as it raced down his cheek. More droplets were threatening to fall, and his vision blurred in spite of his glasses.

The sound of approaching footsteps cued Harry to draw a sleeve across his face, thankful that his back was to the door. He had just finished replacing his glasses when Remus reentered the room, carrying one tray and levitating another.

"It's nothing fancy, but you won't starve." Remus sat down in his own chair as the floating tray settled gracefully in Harry's lap. "I'm not much of a cook, I'm afraid, but I haven't managed to poison anyone yet."

Harry halfheartedly poked his fork into the scrambled eggs on his plate, more to avoid an argument than anything else, but as soon as he took his first bite he realised that Remus had been right: he really was hungry. Before he'd even processed what he was doing he was shoveling food into his mouth and swallowing faster than he could chew, not caring that his manners were even worse than Dudley's had been at the age of three.

Remus gave a faint smile at the sight of him eating ravenously, but didn't otherwise comment. By the time Harry had finished, however, Remus was staring at Sirius again, having only picked at his own food.

"Remus…" Harry ventured. Remus looked up, and the pain in his eyes nearly made Harry stop, but he had to know. "D'you… d'you think…"

"That Sirius has managed to hold onto his sanity?" There was a conspicuous lack of emotion in his voice. "Unfortunately, there's no way to know until he wakes up." He let out a deep breath. "Don't give up hope, though," he continued, looking Harry in the eyes. "Remember, he stayed sane through twelve years of Azkaban where most anyone else wouldn't. He held on because he had something to live for."

"Yeah," Harry started, "killing Pettigrew—" Mentioning Pettigrew's name, however, made his stomach lurch again, and he had to turn away, clapping both hands over his mouth. Maybe eating hadn't been such a good idea after all.

"Harry? _Harry!_" Remus was halfway out of his chair but Harry shook his head, focussing on breathing slowly as he got himself back under control. Gradually, his stomach stopped churning and he was able to look up again.

"I'm all right," he gasped. "Sorry."

"Sorry? Harry, you have nothing to be sorry about. You've both just been through a horrible ordeal. No-one here will think less of you for your reactions—_any_ of them." He let out another sigh and looked Harry in the eyes. "Besides," he continued, "I wasn't referring to his need to kill Pettigrew. I was talking about you."

Harry, however, wasn't listening; his mind was on something else entirely. He almost didn't speak again. It would be hard, very hard, to say what needed to be said. If he didn't say it now, however, he didn't know that he'd ever be able to. Whatever might have happened since, they had been friends, and he owed Remus the truth.

"Pettigrew was the one who saved him."

Remus's head shot up. He did not speak, but had gone very, very still, like a wild animal taken by surprise.

"He was hanging in the air," Harry continued, forcing the words out before he lost his nerve. "Bellatrix had him at her mercy. Voldemort was going to feed him to the snake." He took a deep breath, and another. "Pettigrew cast a _finite_," he continued. "Sirius fell down, he managed to get Bellatrix's wand and escape. But Pettigrew, he—he didn't get away. He transformed and tried to run, but the snake got him instead." He barely managed to keep his composure as he finished, but was once again forced to clamp his mouth firmly shut and concentrate only on breathing. His stomach was roiling again.

For the moment, the room was completely silent. The only sounds were Harry's gasps for air and Remus's harsh breaths, taken through gritted teeth. Remus's hands were clenched in his lap, so hard that the knuckles had turned white.

"Thank you for telling me, Harry," he said at last. He shook his head, but did not speak again.

"Dumbledore and I talked a few times, after Pettigrew was caught." Harry's voice was barely above a whisper. "He told me that one day I might be very glad I'd saved Pettigrew's life." He took a shuddering breath. "And he was right, wasn't he? If I'd let you two kill him…"

"Sirius would have died today." Remus was looking at Sirius again. "Harry, maybe you should go to bed. You must be exhausted and I promise to call you right away if he wakes—"

"_I'm staying here!_" Harry said, cutting him off with such ferocity that Remus made no further mention of sleep.

* * *

They talked no more after that. Slowly, the minutes ticked by, and turned into hours. Moonlight streamed into the room, inched its way across the floor, and retreated again. Harry and Remus had each taken one of Sirius's hands and merely sat there, watching. Harry's eyes were now dry and scratchy, and there was a dull pounding in his temple. He had grown very stiff from the hours of sitting, but not once did he even consider moving.

Then, suddenly, for a reason he couldn't explain, Harry found himself pulled from the stupor into which he had been drifting. There had been some change, an almost indiscernible difference that he could not immediately identify, but which set him back into a state of alertness.

Harry leaned forward, all drowsiness retreating. There it was: Sirius's breathing had changed, quickened. His eyelid gave the slightest of twitches.

"Remus." He found that he was whispering, though he wasn't sure why. "Remus, I think he's waking up."

Remus's head came up off of his chest; he seemed to have dozed off. He gave his head a brief shake as if to clear it, but then he, too, was wide awake, staring at Sirius intently.

"I think you're right, Harry." He was also speaking in a hushed whisper. "Come on, Sirius. That's it. We've been waiting for you; it's time to wake up now."

Harry felt a slight twitch from Sirius's hand. He did not squeeze back, knowing that to do so would cause unbearable agony. Instead he set his other hand, gently, atop Sirius's, letting him know that he was there.

_Come on_, Harry thought, waiting on tenterhooks for Sirius to wake up all the way. The waiting, the wondering, and the uncertainty had all built up to a point where it had become nearly unbearable.

Then, without warning, Sirius let out a gasp. His eye flew open, roving wildly all around the room. He made a sudden movement as if to fling himself from the bed, but then let out a muted cry of pain and fell back against the pillows, panting, with beads of sweat standing out on his forehead.

"Sirius? _Sirius!_" Harry, afraid of accidentally hurting him, let go Sirius's hand and gripped his uninjured forearm instead. "Sirius, it's Harry, it's okay, it's over, you're home, you're safe." Remus was also saying something from the other side of the bed, but Harry could not seem to focus on his words.

Sirius was still panting, breathing in great gulps of air, but at the sound of their voices he stopped thrashing about and his eye stilled, coming to rest on Harry's face.

"Harry?" he whispered. All of the emotion that Harry heard in that single word, the disbelief, the hardly daring to hope, the desperation that this wasn't just a dream, made his eyes fill with tears.

"Yes," Harry whispered back, squeezing his wrist slightly. "I'm here."

"Voldemort—?"

"They got away," Remus answered from his other side. "But you got out of there, Sirius, and that's all that matters right now."

"And Peter?"

"He's dead," Harry answered. "Sirius, I'm sorry."

Sirius closed his eye, turning his head away from Harry. "Never would've thought he had it in him." His voice was so quiet that Harry could barely hear it, but every word was laced with an undertone of pain.

"Rest now, Sirius." Remus's voice was filled with relief, even though it carried that same pain. "We'll get this all sorted later. For now, just rest. You're home."

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that's the end of Year 5. The story is now going to go on hiatus again, as announced at the beginning of this arc. See my profile for further details.

Also, note that the story is now marked as complete. That's because I intend to post Year 6 and beyond as a separate story, given that this one has gotten long enough as is.

While I did have a lot of fun writing and planning Year 5, I am definitely not sorry to see it go. It felt like there were about 50 different subplots going on at once, and just as soon as I'd incorporated one of them another would rear its head and demand some attention. I'm still not satisfied with how well I integrated all the various goings-on into the story, and if I ever do a revision there are a few subplots that I'd definitely like to flesh out more.


End file.
